


A Fur Lined Cloak

by chaya



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Feeding, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Rimming, Sexual Roleplay, Sharing a Bed, Undercover, Undercover as a Couple, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-20 09:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16552985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya
Summary: Caleb must be a Duke for this mission, so that leaves Molly to be his... companion.You may be wondering: is this the kind of indulgent writing that includes sleeping furs, large tankards of mead, and snuggling for warmth?Dear reader, it is exactly that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Molly is voluntarily undercover as something akin to a sex worker, which in the society they're hiding in means that he's treated more as property than as a person. There are no strong themes of dehumanization or harassment, so I don't think this calls for any specific tags or trigger warnings, but it may affect your interest in this story.

 "And what is that, to you?" 

Caleb looks over to the 'that', to  _Mollymauk,_  and is momentarily so offended by the way the guard phrased the question that he forgets who he is supposed to be impersonating, that he  _needs_  to pass as this monstrous man they killed and buried in the hills beyond the city - and as his mind stutters and starts with the pressure and indignity of the situation, Molly falls into a slight pout, hips tilting as he looks back to Caleb, expression unfamiliar and alluring before those glowing red eyes slide back to the guard.

"Isn't it obvious?" Molly asks, and to everyone but Caleb, it is.

 **

From that second on, Mollymauk gains access by being the Duke's 'companion'.

**

Caleb - the damned 'Duke' - gets guest chambers in the south of the keep. There are luxurious fabrics all over the bed, heavy embroidered curtains over the windows to keep out the chill, and a strangely out of place cot in the corner, which he realizes must be for Molly.

"Not sleeping on the floor," Molly reports serenely, as soon as the heavy door is shut and they are unpacking the real Duke's belongings. Fur-lined cloaks. Two different circlets. Several weapons that look to be generations old. "The bed's big enough for three giants to snuggle. Sorry, but you're going to have to share."

"That's fine," Caleb says, barely considering it. He's barely recovered from the way Molly was treated in the great hall on the way here, like cattle, and with Yasha and Fjord and Jester and Beau and Nott all gone now, his 'personal guard' following the rules and staying in the outer ring of the keep during negotiations, Caleb feels like he is the only one who is available to protect Molly from, from whatever this place is.

"Are you alright?" Molly's flippant attitude has shifted to concern, and he's placed a hand on Caleb's where he's holding up a hunting jacket that is too wide for him.

Caleb swallows.

"Should I not touch you?"

"That's not it," Caleb says, and tries to put his thoughts to words. "This isn't, this isn't like Zemnian royalty, around here, it's more..."

"Brutal," Molly supplies helpfully. "More stuffed hunting trophies, fewer fancy silver cutlery to steal on our way out."

"It's more than that," Caleb insists. "Cultures like this. They. You are property, to them."

"But yours," Molly says, and gives him a friendly eyebrow arch that Caleb knows not to take seriously.

"Really." Caleb gives him a serious look. "I, I am worried about this. Back home, our leaders hated negotiating with this part of the north. They are cruel in the way they deal with outsiders, and I would not put it past them to deface my 'property' in order to send a message to me."

Molly seems to consider this, only slightly put off, but gives a nod of assent. "I'll stick near you, my Duke."

"We don't have to be here long. We negotiate the river back to the fishermen, we keep up our identities long enough to disappear, and nobody needs to know who we really are."


	2. Chapter 2

The real Duke didn’t have a companion, so there’s nothing in the trunks for Molly to wear. 

With some coaching from Caleb on how to act like a third-class citizen, he wanders the halls until he finds a maid, and asks her for guidance. Molly ends up having to wait twenty minutes outside the kitchen for her to finish some business that can’t be put off, but then she takes him down into another corridor of the keep’s bowels, a store room with expensive fabrics and accessories that Molly can’t help but wonder if they’re all plunder. With nobody specific to impersonate, Molly helps himself to dressing left, right, and any direction he pleases, slipping the maid a couple coins as thanks before wrapping all his new kit in a large skirt like a bindle and carrying it back to Caleb’s room.

**

“You have nearly as many clothes as me!”

“I’m keeping as much of this when we dash as I can,” Molly says, holding up a scrap of silk that’s masquerading as a blouse to Caleb’s cheek. Caleb frowns at it, finally relenting and tilting his face into it to experience the softness. “See?”

“I’m glad you are getting some sort of amusement out of this,” Caleb mutters.

“You’ll need to button me up into some of these,” Molly warns with a mischievous expression.

**

Caleb does, and it unnerves him. Molly moves easily in the low-neckline chiffon gown; it swishes around his ankles, almost hiding his tail, and when he and Caleb go to the first meeting at the long hall table, Molly drops down onto the straw mat by Caleb’s thronelike chair as if it were second nature. Every time Caleb looks down at him Molly is gazing around indifferently, calm, slightly reclining, and after some of the other companions across the table get up and leave and return with this or that from the kitchens, Molly leaves and does the same. Caleb takes the dish of cheeses and meats, the glass of red wine, and makes sure not to nod any thanks or acknowledgement to Molly as he does so. The goliath man across the table is expressing his distaste for one of the proposals on how to divide the delta lands. It’s important not to react to how Molly has leaned his head demurely against his leg.

**

Most of the other companions are human; one is a half elf, Caleb guesses, but Molly assures him that his tiefling blood makes him seem like a more exotic catch, and not something to be suspect of.

“Dretta is jealous of me, I think,” Molly adds as he tilts his head left and then right to unclasp his silver and ruby earrings, to set them on the dresser in the protective ring of one of the Duke’s circlets. “She keeps trying to cut in front of me in line at the kitchens when we’re arranging plates. She thinks she can do what she likes just because her big scary Garrad owns more land, I imagine! Hmph.”

“You’re falling scarily into character.”

“You should see yourself, dear.” Molly turns away from Caleb, who obediently fiddles with the button clasping the back of the neck of the dress until it becomes undone. Molly begins to immediately shimmy out of it, and Caleb turns. “I don’t know what they teach you Zemni boys in school, but you can glare with the best of them.”

**

There are enough blankets and sheets and duvets and furs that it’s easy to share the bed with someone without actually touching them. Caleb had refused the bedwarmer pan, brought by a maid around an hour after sundown when they realized Molly had not come to take it, but all Caleb could see was a bunch of coals in a flimsy metal container that would surely set the bed alight.

The furs and blankets seemed warm enough until he woke up in complete darkness, body tense and curled inward from chill.

“Are you awake?” Molly asks softly behind him, making him startle.

“How did you know?”

“You have a tiny little snore when you sleep,” Molly explains, and before Caleb can retort, Molly is moving, turning toward him in the bed a full arm’s reach away. “Are you cold too? It’s awful in here.”

“It is,” Caleb mutters, and tries to think of a solution. The coals in the pan, left in the corner, will have died out hours ago. He pushes some of his hair from his face and scowls as pulling his hand out from the nest of blankets exposes it to even more cold. 

“Let’s snuggle,” Molly says, half joking but half tired and serious. “I’m supposed to be your go-to bedwarmer anyway, not that damned iron contraption.”

Caleb feels a twitch of interest and suppresses it with a deep scowl. “What are you wearing.”

“You never looked the whole time I was changing?”

“A Duke never spies on a lady,” Caleb says, hoping the joke will be sufficient. Molly’s soft laughter is pleasant, warm in its own way.

“My usual breeches,” Molly says, rustling a little more on his side of the bed and clearly hoping to get permission to move closer. “I’m so used to sleeping in them anyway, out on the road.”

Caleb considers his own attire - the loose silk shirt and pants he found in the luggage - and decides it might as well happen. As long as he’s cautious. “Fine, but you’re the.. wie sagt man… big spoon.” He tucks a little further into himself, preemptively obscuring his lap even though there’s little chance for Molly noticing unless he directly tries to cop some kind of feel. Molly is heaving an overly dramatic sigh, shuffling the layers of covers this way and that, burrowing to the very bottom, and then closer, and through the silk shirt he can feel the immediate warmth of Molly’s bare chest.

“My liege,” Molly stage whispers into his ear, making Caleb twitch away from the feeling of his breath.

“Dukes are not 'lieges’,” Caleb corrects, reaching up for the overstuffed feather pillow and gripping it a little more tightly than necessary. Molly’s hips are slotting in neatly behind his, extremely comfortable and welcome and upsetting all at once.

“My dirty wizard,” Molly whispers instead, still mock serious, and Caleb releases one hand from the pillow to push his elbow threateningly against Molly’s gut. “Hey!”

“I’ll send you to the sleeping mat,” Caleb says, immediately regretting the joking threat. He still doesn’t like the false power he has over this other man.

“I’ll be good,” Molly promises, all saccharine honesty, and Caleb feels something strange and horrifying twist in him, sending a tremble through his entire body before he can do anything to stop it.

He’s not sure if Molly noticed it, or correctly interpreted it. By the time Caleb can speak again, it’s far too late to say anything, and they are silent in the frigid room until their shared warmth finally sends them to sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, the maid Molly tipped comes to wake them with a fresh wash basin, mead, and some pickled berries to snack on while they get ready. Molly, who saw the trays being arranged the night before and knows that the tiny refreshments are usually only arranged for  _one_ , gives her a friendly pat on the hip as she leaves, not trying to hide from her that he just slipped another silver into her pocket.

Caleb watches this. "A friend?"

"I think so," Molly says, and sets about picking out something to wear. "A snack friend, at least." He turns to tilt his chin at the little plates of blackberries, before turning his attention back on the mess of fabrics. "We're visiting the battalions today, right?"

"Yes, Ydring is waving his dick around before we get down to real talks." Caleb rolls his eyes and strips the pajama set off, pulling on three layers of shirts, finally hauling the slightly too-big trousers up and pulling the belt tight. "Scheisse. Why did this asshole have to be built wide?"

"You can't tell," Molly assures him, and when he comes over to straighten out the belt's placement, tucking the first two shirts in and smoothing out the top one until it sits properly. "We could never pull this off if the negotiations had been on the beach, but here, you're safe."

Caleb stands uncomfortably as Molly continues about his work, adding the heavy link necklace with the pendant that rests just past Caleb's breastbone. Then two bracelets that Caleb had set aside as too ornate, but once they're half covered by the long and fur-trimmed sleeves, they look just right, as if they were made to accompany this exact outfit. "Was there an illustrated style guide in that trunk zat I missed?" He asks, accent thickening a little.

"We traveled a lot in the circus," Molly says absently, picking up the copper circlet and setting it just so on Caleb's head. "These types never actually came to the show, but we'd see them when we'd come into the city and introduce ourselves to make nice."

Caleb assesses himself in the mirror once Molly releases him, and he feels overwhelmingly more secure in his disguise than he did yesterday, when he arranged the outfit himself. He looks ready to throw some peasants into some cells.

"Wear something warm," Caleb says, still looking at himself. "Maybe your regular boots. If the tour today is anything like I think, we'll be in mud."

**

And they are. It's mostly frozen over, but the horses have also contributed their own hazards on the road, and Phandres makes what is apparently an enormous faux pas by gathering his tiny companion up in his arms and carrying her across a particularly disgusting puddle as if she were a wife or maiden he was courting. She seems delighted by it, but Caleb notes several rolled eyes and exchanged glances among the other men; to show such favor to your companion is apparently weakness.

"A piggy back," Molly says in Caleb's ear, as soon as they're far enough to themselves. He's watching several of the other companions walk in the grass, many yards away, taking a longer route to avoid the worst of the muck. Molly, in tight-fitting leather breeches tucked into his traveling boots, is doing fine. The other two male companions are in thong sandals and look extremely jealous that Molly's permitted to wear such reasonable footwear. "It's the perfect compromise. Come on, let's have a go."

"I'm taking away your morning snack privileges. They clearly get you too worked up." Caleb squints ahead and frowns at the stable boy tending to a stallion in full armor - the plates are ill fitted to the beast, maybe tailor made for a smaller steed. "Udren, are all your beasts of labor weighed down with such shoddy metalwork?"

**

They return to the keep, and the companions all disappear without word to change. As they trickle back downstairs, the meeting hall has been abandoned for a side room with low tables for food and drink, and about a third of the men are absent. The remainders are talking in more relaxed tones about the issues of their various territories, and Caleb listens and makes up for his lack of interpersonal knowledge of these men by at least having an exact knowledge of their locations and boundary lines.

"But do you not have to negotiate such a thing with Sarralen? To the west?" Caleb looks up as the large doors are pushed open, revealing Molly in a flimsy cotton shift with elaborate embroidery, delicate slippers, and an enormous fur cloak overtop. Caleb's eyes widen imperceptibly as he realizes that this is one of the Duke's, stolen from his dresser; several of the other men seem to notice too, guffawing quietly, but seemingly in approval as Molly slinks in and deposits himself on the long wooden bench next to Caleb. Caleb does his best to causally ignore him, a mere ornament, as he continues focusing on his talks with the General. "I have heard they are pushovers, mind you, but it seems like they would engage their political powers if not their military ones."

The General's eyes are locked on Molly, who has commandeered a maroon pillow from the arm rest to lay across Caleb's leg for him to rest upon. Unlike Caleb and the rest of the Nein, these men have no experience in enduring or sometimes ignoring Mollymauk's antics and eccentricities. While being an unwilling participant in them is unnerving to say the least, Caleb has at least some previous knowledge to draw from, keeping his back straight and not responding as Molly gets into a comfortable lounging position with the cloak half draped over his narrow frame.

"They are, weak," the General says, half caught between laughter at the open display of comfort and between some sort of comment.

In a flash, Caleb realizes the play: the more Molly acts out, the more impressive it is to the others that Caleb is ignoring him, remaining in control and focusing on the discussions on hand. Where one of the other men this morning had exposed himself to be indulgent, this kind of indifference is exactly the kind of strength that these men seem to value.

"If he is distracting to you, I can send him away," Caleb says genially. Before he can get an answer, he looks down to Molly and throws a hand toward the door in gesture. "Go get something out of the kitchens for us. Make use of yourself."

"Boar," the War Chief in the corner grunts to the tiefling, giving Caleb a respectful nod to acknowledge that the companion is not his to directly order.

"Boar, yes, whatever else they have ready. Don't be a bother to the staff down there, hm?" Caleb watches with manufactured indifference as Molly sits up wordlessly, letting the cloak drift off his bare shoulders before he inclines his head and gets up to trot out of the room. Several other companions watch him, studiously, before looking at each other, at their own men, deep in calculation.

Caleb wonders if he will see any of them with masculine cloaks wrapped around them tomorrow. It wouldn't be the first time Mollymauk had instigated some kind of trend.


	4. Chapter 4

By the fourth day, their routine is terrifyingly easy to fall into.

It feels natural for nights to end with a loose embrace. It feels natural for mornings to begin with a servant bringing in a tray, with picking out what ridiculous frock he’ll wear, with helping Molly with whatever even more ridiculous frock he will wear. At the discussions at the map table, Caleb leans over the roughly sketched ocean and mutters corrections over lines of mountains, hills, territories. He has not visited these places himself, but he has seen much finer maps, and he has not forgotten a single jot of them.

Molly and the other companions, not invited to this smaller room with no space for their woven mats, wait for them in the side room. As soon as Caleb comes in and is seated, still locked in discussion with Phandres about those damnable fishing rights, Molly gets up, moves his mat next to Caleb’s feet, and leans his head quietly on Caleb’s thigh. As Phandres speaks, defending a two-generation treaty, Caleb listens unimpressed and runs his fingers through Molly’s hair as one would absentmindedly pet a dog.

**

It isn’t until new refreshments are brought in, minutes later, that Caleb realizes what he has been doing. Many of the other men toy with their companion’s hair or jewelry without any mind, but his mirroring of this is strange to him. Stranger still, Molly did not budge an inch, in fact leaning in and sighing when he takes his hand away.

**

“If I took some kind of liberty, you would tell me,” Caleb says that night as they undress.

Molly snorts. It’s the most masculine sound he’s made all day. “Lyrre was practically getting felt up at dinner, didn’t you see?”

“That’s not -” Caleb sets his jaw. “I do not set out to be the nicest asshole in a room of assholes. And besides, I have no idea what Lyrre wants or doesn’t want him to do.” After a few breaths, and the security of a fresh set of clothes covering him, he tries again. “What I mean, is, if I do something you do not want… the  _real_ you.”

When Molly doesn’t reply, Caleb looks over, concerned enough to forget his propriety. Molly is still wearing the pearl-hemmed slip, breeches untouched at the edge of the bed, and he seems deep in thought.

“Molly?”

“None of this is what we want,” Molly says finally. He begins to take his earrings out, then his bracelets, placing them in the safety of the circlet. “You don’t want to be pretending to be this Duke. You don’t like talking to those men. You don’t like seeing how some of them treat people.”

All this is true. “And you?”

“I’m always pleased to see you knock them on their asses with a few words, but I don’t like seeing you unhappy. I miss Jester and the rest, down in the outer ring, even if we send messages to one another.” He sighs. “I like some parts of this game, but I don’t like other parts of it.”

“You seem to enjoy pushing my buttons,” Caleb points out, hoping to draw out a smile. “And everyone else’s, by proxy.”

“I shouldn’t,” Molly says. There’s an edge of guilt Caleb didn’t expect.

“But it works.” It’s brilliant, actually, especially how quickly Molly caught on to that angle.

“But I shouldn’t enjoy it,” Molly repeats, mouth tugging to the side. “I’m sorry. I know you want to get this done as soon as possible.”

He does, and he does hate this place, and almost all these people, but something about the slant of Molly’s frown makes him rethink this.

**

The real, actual negotiations take up the majority of the day. They never retire to the eating hall, instead having trays brought over and over again, more and more mead and ale and wine, and Caleb realizes with a start that his drinks have been intentionally watered down, almost definitely by Molly himself. The day drinking seems to be expected to continue throughout the day, almost another ridiculous display of strength or control as they argue amongst each other and negotiate minutiae, and maybe seeing the setup in the kitchens alerted Molly to this. He suspects the other men are much more used to this kind of lifestyle and would have drunk him under the table by brunch if he’d been drinking exactly what they had.

Caleb lowers his hand, stroking a hand through Molly’s hair as the realization washes over him. Molly is of course right at his feet, quiet and demure, not acting up or acting out today as the tone of the room is too dark for it. Hadyr is threatening to back out of some arranged marriage between his tribe and Lars’s, and it’s causing an incredible level of tension and holding up further discussion.

**

Molly nuzzles into his knee, a few hours past lunch, and Caleb realizes that those not directly in talks have been passing their companions glasses and pieces of food from their own plates. He’s been so focused on breaking Hadyr’s stubborn wall that he wasn’t paying attention to these new social behaviors.

“Ja,” Caleb says absently, an answer to the wordless request, and takes a sprig of two cherries from his plate to hold out. Molly makes a quiet grateful sound and takes them, fingers brushing his, and Caleb feels a strange jolt of unwelcome warmth and interest. He wants to feed Molly directly, to hold the cup while Molly sips from it, and these sudden images and concepts are distracting and hard to set aside.

“We cannot abandon the strategy that has kept the enemy at bay for twelve years,” Hadyr is saying.

“You should not be so beholden to a strategy that has cost you both your dignity and the better part of your trade routes for those twelve years,” Caleb says back sharply, a little louder than he intended. The room quiets, everyone going a little still, except for Mollymauk, who quietly enjoys the cherries one by one, perfectly calm, as if his Duke verbally smacks men down all the time and it is no longer worthy of note.

**

The early afternoon begins to blur. He realizes he must be at least beginning to show some tipsiness when Molly brings him his next glass of mead, filled to the brim, and upon first taste it is nearly completely water.

He pays more attention to himself then, enunciating more clearly, but is pleased to find that the other men apparently judged his earlier slurring as his accent coming out when he was more pressed or irritated. Trying to find some solace, he allows himself to stroke his fingertips along the ridges of Molly's horns, absently playing with the jewelry there, listening to the others drone on about trade agreements. They stopped talking about the fisheries issue suddenly, after some very pointed comments from Caleb, and from context he's not sure if they tabled the argument until later or if he won. He will have to find out later once the first draft of the agreement is written up.

By sunset Caleb feels more himself, three glasses into Molly's snuck-in water just barely darkened with mead, and he is passing small hunks of bread and dried fish to Molly in an absent sort of way that he feels he should not enjoy so much. Molly's dress today is long, covering his feet as he leans against Caleb, and the teal color fades into sapphire toward the hem. He catches himself looking only when he realizes Tyrr is watching him.

"Distracted?" Tyrr jokes, meaning very little by it.

Caleb thinks back to yesterday, when one of the men bragged about his girl in her absence. The way he spoke. "Would you not be, if you had him?" He sweeps a hand broadly over Molly's head, nonchalant but earnest, like a man who has been lucky so long he is no longer timid about it.

Tyrr smirks and leans back in his chair, ruffling his own girl's hair and laughing. "I should think," he agrees with a good natured tone. "If he ever loses his way from your chambers, I shouldn't see a problem."

There is a cold and melting spike of energy in Caleb's mind, then, obliterating any rational thought about Tyrr's gentle smile or undemanding wording. He sees only someone who wants to be closer to Molly. Nobody else is near Molly, and Molly cannot protect himself in a place like this. Caleb's face must be showing something, because already Tyrr's face is open and a little shocked.

"He knows his way very well," Caleb says finally, and the room is quiet again, warm from the hearth and oddly still.


	5. Chapter 5

They change for the feast, and Molly is oddly quiet as they have their backs to each other.

“Does he worry you?” Caleb asks, not bothering to name the man.

“No,” Molly says, and seems ready to say more. Caleb waits, but it doesn’t come. After a few moments Molly walks into his eyeline, dressed in a plunging gown of vivid and reflective gold, with little stitches here and there introducing seed-sized beads of freshwater black pearls and onyx. Caleb breathes shakily as he takes him in, holding still as Molly goes through the motions of fixing Caleb’s clothing, the little details. The circlet goes on last, and something in Molly’s eyes is impenetrable and alluring at the same time. Caleb can’t look away, feels compelled to understand what he sees, but just as quickly Molly is turning to the door.

Caleb’s hand closes loosely around his wrist. “Wait?”

Molly stops, looks at him, and in a moment Caleb sees a truth he didn’t see before; one that he cannot fit into his view, cannot resolve. He stares until Molly looks away again, and Caleb reaches out again, not holding him but begging him to wait. Molly hesitates and Caleb steps closer, as close as he dares.

“You like parts of this game,” Caleb says, barely louder than a breath.

“…yes,” Molly says. There is kohl around his eyes, making them look bigger, like they’re glowing impossibly brightly.

“You like being with someone like this.” It’s barely a question. Molly shrugs one bare shoulder, and Caleb’s unsure all over again, not positive what he saw, except that it was hidden and that he needed to understand it. “Either way, perhaps,” Caleb says this time. “You would be just as happy to wear these robes and have someone fawning at your feet.”

“Perhaps,” Molly says, and takes a slow breath. “It’s… different.”

“Perhaps it’s more about who you play it with,” Caleb says, stumbling over his words and saying them before he’s sure they’re the right ones. “If it were the right person, I do not know that I would mind which seat I were in, so long as I-”

The flagstones are unforgivingly hard against his back, digging in to his shoulder blades through all the layers of cloth and fur as Mollymauk’s hands press against his shoulders. Caleb stares at him, taken by surprise, barely able to move as he feels the other man’s fingers wind into his hair and pin him exactly in place.

“Just tell me if I can kiss you or not,” Molly breathes, and Caleb stares at him, dragging out the moment before grabbing Molly’s waist, not trusting himself to speak, pulling him flush against his chest and crushing their mouths together.

Molly feels hotter than he expected, as if he’d been sitting in front of a warm fire for hours, and Caleb digs his fingers into the soft gold fabric and drinks it in as their mouths open for each other. Molly’s tongue is perfect, soft and tantalizing and making him twitch and begin to harden.

“Molly.” Caleb breathes his name like a prayer, like the beginning of a spell, and Molly pulls back, breathing hard and examining his face.

“How long have you wanted me, you great idiot?”

Caleb looks at him in askance, panting. “How the hell was I to know you might be interested in a mess like me?”

Molly mutters something under his breath - it may have been Infernal - and dives back in, drawing out Caleb’s lower lip with delicate teeth and making Caleb moan and grab Molly’s ass through the dress, grinding against him, wondering how he got this lucky.

“Fuck,” Molly mutters in the air between them, tipping his forehead to Caleb’s. Caleb shivers and digs his fingers in deeper to the firm flesh, moving down to kiss the column of Molly’s neck.

“Good idea,” Caleb murmurs, but Molly isn’t moving.

“The feast.”

“It can wait.” Caleb’s hand blindly finds the base of Molly’s tail, stroking down along its length as far as he can reach, the pads of his fingertips stuttering over the occasional tiny bead on the gown.

Molly curls his hand around Caleb’s wrist, halting him, and Caleb swallows and bites back a whine. “We’re signing the agreements,” Molly says quietly. “We can’t skip that. If we’re late they’ll wonder.”

Caleb wants nothing less than to go sit in front of those idiots, eat more meat, and scribble fake signatures across documents. “They assume we’ve been having sex this whole time, since before we came here, what’s a few-”

“That town will starve if we fuck this up.” Molly’s scowling, face flushed and eyes glittering strangely. Caleb finds he’s more relieved than he’d like to admit that Molly looks reluctant too, like there’s at least part of him that wants to ditch responsibility and keep going here, against this freezing wall in these ridiculous clothes. “They need us, Caleb.”

_Damn the fishing town,_  Caleb thinks. Molly’s body is warm and firm under his hands, his breath coming in warm gusts against Caleb’s throat - but more importantly than the town, Molly himself doesn’t want to do this, not right now, and so Caleb swallows and lets go. Molly steps back, smoothing his dress, looking up guiltily at Caleb’s hair and reaching out to straighten it.

“Let me trim your beard,” Molly says, running his nails along Caleb’s scalp in careful tracks to finger comb it into place. “I’ve wanted to do it since we started dressing up.”

Something about the quiet way he says it mollifies Caleb a bit. At least Molly still feels the pull as well. “Have I looked like a mess this whole time?”

“No, just a little rough around the edges. We can afford to look more refined tonight.” Molly leads him by the shoulder to the seat by the window, taking a towel from next to the wash basin and tucking it around Caleb’s neck. Caleb tilts his head back and looks out the window as the cold hills, the unlit ramshackle houses in the distance, clustered together around the bend in the river. When Molly comes back with fine silver scissors and begins to trim here and there, Caleb is calmer.

“It’s the dinner, and the signing, and then drinks afterward,” Caleb begins. Molly cuts him off, knowing where he’s headed:

“We have to go to both.”

Caleb doesn’t bother hiding the displeased grunt as Molly draws his finger up Caleb’s throat to tilt his head back further. “Some Duke I am, being led around by my concubine.”

“Your personal assistant. Your schedule manager.”

“You’re angling for a raise.”

“I’ll get a raise out of you,” Molly promises softly, and Caleb shivers. “Later. We’re in the final stretch of this con.”

Caleb shuts his eyes. “Poor Fjord and the rest,” he mutters. “Nott’s message said they’ve been roped into training exercises since yesterday.”

“Maybe Beau will learn to use something other than a stick and a thrown piece of shrapnel.” Molly brushes gently at a few spots on Caleb’s cheeks, then folds the towel and sets it aside. “There. Let’s go.”

Caleb gets to his feet, opening the door for Molly and allowing himself, after several steps, the honor of laying his forearm across the tiefling’s hips, palm light on his far waist. Molly’s tail flicks in contentment, and he says nothing as they walk down the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

The feast dishes aren’t out yet, and Caleb can immediately see the genius of the strategy - everyone is hungry and impatient, and the agreement papers are laid out, huge and in black-blue calligraphy, in the otherwise empty table’s very center. The sooner everyone signs, the sooner the plates will be brought out. Someone nitpicking for a small word change, or a few acres of territory, would be shut down either by a sharp word or perhaps worse.

Ydring straightens from the large sheaf of papers on the table, nodding at their arrival.  "Garrad has not yet arrived, but if you would like to begin reading and sign first…“

Caleb nods, walking past the throng of others as if this is a natural decision. Perhaps his stern faces have been lending him more social power than he expected, if he’s to sign first. He’s also been an incredibly fast reader in comparison to the others, so that may enter in it. "I am sure it is sufficient,” he says shortly, as if he’s being a little generous in his words. He scans through the paragraphs on trade routes, most of them not relevant to ‘his’ territory, and ignores a handful of unclear phrases on tri-yearly agreement renewals to move on to the river and its fishing rights.

Full. Caleb argued for the swell of the harvest season and two months on either side of it, and he got full. He keeps his expression stony, neutral, reading over it twice, then onward to the inconsequential troop agreements among the larger territories on the next page. He takes a steadying breath before taking up the quill and scrawling out his fake name as ornately as possible.

“I am satisfied,” he says, turning, and hands the quill to Phandres to his left. He sees Ydring’s pleased twitch of the lips - Phandres is the most easily swayed, of the group, and will be unlikely to quibble about anything but the most outrageously unfair proposal. After his signature, the third man would be increasingly pressured to go along, as calling a for a rewrite would cause everyone before him to have to read and sign again.

Phandres takes much longer to read, being a slower student and having several more sections relevant to his people, but at last he signs with not much more than a cross and hands the quill off again. Caleb stiffens as something touches his waist - Molly’s hands curl around him, pressing up from behind, and Caleb forces himself to relax as he looks over his shoulder.

“Hungry, dear?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as ruffled as he is. Molly’s eyes are a serene ruby in the dim lighting, blinking slowly back at him. He has the expression of someone who knows he is the finest of his rank in the room, a face they both know is an outrage to several of the other companions.

“I can wait,” the tiefling murmurs. “But I hope this is concluded soon, so that we can put it behind us and enjoy the rest of the night.”

The layers in that statement make Caleb’s eyes flutter shut, and he sends Molly a warning look not to press too far. He only has so much self control to ignore Molly’s antics. He can’t balance pointed innuendo on top of it when he knows now that there’s a chance for something to happen later. “Be good, Schatz.”

Molly’s eyes widen and glow a little deeper at the Zemnian endearment, not knowing the translation but clearly understanding its meaning nonetheless.

The doors push open and Garrad comes in with Dretta, who is wearing a pale deerskin hunting cloak around her pale blue dress. Caleb gives Molly a brief acknowledging squeeze on the hand at his waist; this is the second time they’ve seen one of the others wearing their man’s cloak since Molly’s introduction of the look.

“She’s wearing it off the shoulder but she’s not pulling it off,” Molly singsongs in Caleb’s ear.

“Yes, of course, you are the prettiest as always.” Caleb looks around with a composed stern expression as Garrad takes the quill and waves Dretta aside, bending over the papers and beginning to read.

“And the most fashionable,” Molly adds sweetly.

“You are incorrigible.”

“I want you to feed me tonight.”

Caleb feels his body freeze in place as if held by magic.

“By hand,” Molly continues, just barely loud enough to be heard. “From the table.”

Everyone is moving all of a sudden, clapping each other on the shoulders as servants come in - they are taking their seats, mats being brought out for the companions, and Caleb feels himself move to his seat, sit, and begin to come back into his body. Molly is beside him, horn brushing innocently against his hand where it rests on the arm of the carved chair.

“To strength in numbers,” Ydring bellows, holding up his tankard as soon as it’s placed in front of him. Caleb fumbles for his, collecting himself, sitting a little taller in his seat and schooling his face into one of grim satisfaction as he holds his drink up.

“Strength!” one of the men echoes, and Caleb and the others follow suit and drink. By the time the tankards begin clanking against the heavy wooden table, dishes are being placed down, silverware, and then the first courses. Caleb sees one of the other companions - her name has never come up - narrow her eyes at Molly as he tips his head further, further back, until the nape of his neck is curved along the shape of Caleb’s forearm so he can look up at him.

“Yes,” Caleb mutters, pretending to be more interested in hailing down a servant for a glass of wine. “Be patient.”

Molly just hums, eyes lidded as his tongue swipes across his lips. Caleb, now earnestly worried for his cover, lifts his arm and jostles Molly’s head away from him, making a dismissive sound and turning to see what the other men are discussing. Tyrr seems to have noticed the less than subtle bid for attention, but after how his last comment was received, Caleb is less than surprised that he doesn’t say anything.

“Errid wants walking boots now,” Hargran is saying with an amused smirk as he ruffles his companions’ hair. Caleb realizes belatedly that Molly’s acting out garnered more attention than he first thought - he’s the subject of discussion. “Fine leather ones, mind, but ones that will let him walk in mud.”

Phaendras snorts good naturedly and Caleb looks down to Molly’s innocent look, just barely visible to the others at the table. “Do you see how you inconvenience others?” Caleb chides flatly, lifting an eyebrow. “These poor men have enough to do without indulging new demands from their pets.”

“Don’t be too harsh on him,” Ydring rumbles, and he is grinning too. “We have spoken with you for many days, now; you are a difficult man to please. Any man whose sole job is to do so, surely has the hardest task of all.”

The other men laugh and smack the table. It’s a tease wrapped in a compliment, an acknowledgement of whatever it is in Caleb’s stone faced persona that allowed him to get that river, and the others seem happy to agree that Caleb is surely a demanding man in all fields. Knowing Molly’s not allowed to speak at the table, even when spoken  _about_ , Caleb tilts his head in acknowledgement and steels himself, running a finger thoughtfully along the tiefling’s jawline.

“He is adequate.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Did you have him tattooed, or was he already decorated so?” Hargan jerks his chin toward Molly’s bared skin. As the serving cutlery for the main dishes comes in, and serving begins, Caleb begins wondering how to change the subject as elegantly as possible.

“I have made no changes to him,” he says in a low rumble. “In spite of my best efforts.”

Several chuckles throughout the room. As Ydring asks Phaendras about the progress of his brother’s trek across the wild territories, Caleb takes some slices of a fowl he can’t quite identify, layering them on his plate, and then a thin slice of apple from the rim of the dish. Swallowing, he holds it disinterestedly over the arm of his chair. There’s a pause, but no hand takes it from him - instead there is the soft sound of a crunch, and then the slice is lighter. Caleb allows his eyes to slide over, slowly, to see Molly chewing, swallowing, looking at him innocently through his lashes as he leans forward and takes the last of the slice out of Caleb’s fingers with careful teeth.

Caleb has to look away. His gaze settles on his own plate for a few minutes before he begins to cut and eat his own food, solidly ignoring the man at his feet. He can feel Molly’s tail swishing lazily just above the floor, grazing his leg from time to time, certainly on purpose.

The men are completely unaware, complimenting the drinks and already beginning to talk a little louder, lean a little further, work done and the rest of the evening open to revelries. Several of them are stroking their own companions’ hair, touches lingering, and Caleb has to look away from that as well.

“Your wine,” a voice at his shoulder says, and Caleb recognizes it as the servant that Molly’s befriended. It’s unusual that she should be on meal duty if she’s usually working on the rooms.

“All hands on deck?” he asks, forgetting that he’s not supposed to care.

She hesitates, having already turned to the kitchen. “Yes, your grace.” She waits a moment to see if Caleb will say anything else, then walks away, smiling a little to herself.

Molly’s head plunks onto Caleb’s thigh.”I want her,” he says, quietly enough that it’s not considered inappropriate in front of others.

Caleb blinks down at his lap and tries to set his glass down without dragging his sleeve across Molly’s face. “Stop being ridiculous.”

“For our own keep,” Molly says, expression composed and gentle like a real concubine. “She can tend to me. I like her.”

Caleb thinks about this a moment, translating Molly’s words. Molly truly  _does_ like the girl, and she’s almost definitely one of the countless indentured servants in this land... a generation after the reluctantly freed slaves, who will be old and grey before they can pay off their debts to their old masters. This woman will probably die here in this keep. It’s possible she’s never seen anything else.

Paying for her freedom under the pretense of buying her debt and taking her on as a servant might be possible.

“You tire of all the gifts I give you,” Caleb says, allowing his voice to be heard this time. “Why should I indulge your request?”

Garrad snorts and jerks his chin toward Caleb, unknowingly taking the bait. “What does your tiefling want this time?”

“The servant,” Caleb answers, waving his hand dismissively toward the kitchens. “He’s getting more spoiled by the day, I swear it -” He shoots an apologetic glance toward Ydring. “Is she available? I hate to bring up business in the middle of our revelries.”

Ydring shrugs amicably and leans back, looking at the various women as they file out with new plates and mugs and waiting until Caleb points at the right one. “Oh! Yes, although I’ve no clue what her family’s debt is at… you’d have to ask Rekja, she handles all that.”

Caleb looks down at Molly, who’s giving him a hopeful, flirtatious look for the crowd. “Go have the servant find Rekja for you, get the money out of my trunk. And don’t keep this girl from her duties too long, we don’t have her until tomorrow.”

Molly’s face lights up in happiness, and he gets to his feet with a quick brush of a kiss across Caleb’s cheek. The men chuckle. As the girl - they don’t even know her name, does Molly? - sets down her side plates with shaky hands, unsure what just happened, Molly waits by the door and disappears with her to wherever and whoever Rekja is.

There was plenty of gold in the Duke’s trunk, and there are enough slaves-turned-serfs in these lands that she will cost an insultingly low amount of money. More than anything, Caleb is selfishly glad in the moment to have a break from the flirtations.

“Mine has two,” Garrad confides, in a stage whisper that makes several other men grin. “One for her dresses and hair, one for all the other tasks.” Dretta, who looks delighted to have some kind of one up on Molly, is beaming from her place beside Garrad.

“It’s a good job for the youngest,” Ydring says, chewing through some fowl. “Not too much heavy lifting, no real skilled work.”

“You say that, but the smallest once scrubbed a gown wrong and tore the lace all up the side-” Garrad gestures something frilly and unimportant across his arm, rolling his eyes. “I had to save that poor lass from the  _noose_.”

Caleb does not care for Dretta.

The conversation shifts again, and Caleb turns his attention to his food, getting the feeling he has a brief window of time to get his own meal before Molly comes back and demands his own food, plus whatever attention he decides will most vex Caleb to give him in front of others.

The fowl is better than he expected, and he collects a few more apple slices and berries on the side of his plate for later. When his stomach is full enough, he finally tries the wine, and discovers that it’s something they haven’t served him before. It’s drier, tasting vaguely of something like sweet cranberries and smoke. It’s growing on him. He starts looking across the table, several of the dishes unfamiliar to him as he didn’t  _actually_  marry into a well-respected family in this area several years ago, and starts portioning small amounts to his plate to see what they are. One has a surprising amount of caramelized onions underneath the innocent savory pie exterior, and is immediately rejected. 

Several minutes later, Molly comes back in, followed by the servant. Caleb takes a moment to take her in, as much as he can without looking too invested: she looks calmer, a little overwhelmed, and Caleb wonders what Molly said to her. Probably that she’d be treated well and could look forward to a warmer castle. He wouldn’t risk telling her the truth, and let her excitement give her (and them) away.

“Forty-seven spent,” Molly says in his ear, a warm gust of breath. “Thirteen left.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Caleb mutters earnestly as Molly retakes his place at his feet. “Sit. Take this.” He passes Molly the tankard of ale, ignoring the look that clearly means Molly was hoping Caleb would hold it for him. Caleb makes a point of pushing his chair in a bit more, preventing anyone from laying their head on his lap again.

It’s only a few moments of peace before there’s a chin propped on the arm of his chair. Caleb doesn’t look down, just picks up an apple slice and holds it out to the lavender face just barely in his field of vision.

He knew he might feel Molly’s lips brush against his fingertips as he took it, but somehow he’s unprepared nonetheless - they’re warm and soft, sending his body into a buzz as he recalls the kisses that happened what feels like hours ago. Too quickly, the lips are gone, and Caleb’s no longer holding anything. Someone is talking about grain taxes. He wants to die.

He grabs another berry.

Molly doesn’t move at first, leaving Caleb’s left hand crossed over and holding the berry out for several seconds before he feels Molly’s lips close gently around the berry, his fingertips, plucking it away gently and -  _oh_  - swiping those fingertips clean with a long, attentive lick.

Caleb can feel the flush rising on his face, the tips of his ears, and he snatches his hand back and hunches over the table. He can only do this in small doses. His cock has started to become sensitized, hardening somewhat, and just brushing against the inside of his own breeches, under the heavy layers of fabric, is something he has to consciously work to avoid now.  The the low torchlight of the room should save him from being too obviously flushed, but - looking around again, he sees that almost  _everyone_  is red-faced, laughing amongst one another and calling for more drinks. They’re distracted with their own companions, with their own joking, with their own intoxication. Maybe - maybe he can -

Caleb grabs another apple slice, breaking it in half against the plate and looking down to Molly’s surprised expression. Caleb continues the eye contact, holding out the small piece of apple. When Molly flutters his lashes and moves forward to take it, Caleb tucks it back to the palm of his hand just in time, reaching out his fingertips instead and stroking them along Molly’s jaw.

He’s delighted to see Molly’s ears flick forward and darken at the tips.


	8. Chapter 8

Caleb curls his fingers, slightly, turning the touch into a gentle scrape of his nails against Molly’s skin as he pulls his hand away again. Molly’s face looks unguarded, by Caleb’s reckoning. No longer an act but a real, honest stare at him, conveying surprise and  _want_.

Pretending to see nothing, Caleb turns back to his plate, eating more and listening to the conversation. He feels Molly lay his cheek against his knee, tail curling several times around his ankle and squeezing in something like an embrace.

It’s hard to pay attention to the conversation. It’s hard to push away the memories of their fevered kisses. Caleb can feel his lips pressing together, trying to stimulate them as they were before from the pressure of Moly’s mouth on his, and takes a deep breath to try to resettle himself. He sips some more wine, sets the glass down, and lets his hand release the stem of the glass and casually fall beneath the table. He can feel the soft curls of Molly’s hair under his fingertips, and as he plays gently with a few strands, nudging but not tugging, he finds the ridges of a horn, and then an ear. His heart stops a moment.

Ydring is recounting a story about a hunt. Caleb turns to him and pretends to listen, the faintest touch of his fingertip tracing along the shell of Molly’s pointed ear. He’s not sure if he felt the other man shiver or if he imagined it from his own trembling. When his finger reaches Molly’s earlobe, Caleb can feel Molly turn his head, and for a moment Caleb loses contact, blind, and then he can feel the scrape of teeth teasing along his finger, and then a  _tongue_ , and-

Caleb sits up straighter and yanks his hand away at the same time.

His heart is rabbiting in his chest. Nobody seems to notice his new flush. Nobody can see his erection under the table. Ydring is describing a great elk, fifteen hands high with antlers wider than the span of a man’s arms. Caleb grabs his glass as if it were a lifeline, drinking it down, looking toward the back wall and lifting his eyebrows to a girl in a simple dress to bring him another.

Things are still as the girl comes with the bottle, filling the wine glass generously. Caleb nods at her and she bows slightly and walks back to the kitchen to return the bottle.

“He is distracted with his wine,” Garrad says with a grin.

Caleb looks up, eyebrows coming together. “I’ve missed something?”

“You were asked if you hunt.” Udren is looking at him with the forgiving sympathy of a man who is also deep into his cups.

Hunting. Caleb thinks back to the fat Duke and his lands back home, the rocky jagged hills of it. “My land is not stocked as yours is, with good hides waiting to be snapped up.” He gives a brief shrug, indicating it’s not much of a loss to him. Almost immediately, he feels the tail around his ankle squeeze briefly, and then a hand on his knee under the table. “And - and fishing does not hold the same excitement, I do not think.”

The other men grunt in agreement. “I  _have_ heard,” Phaendras says, slouched deeply in his chair, “of massive beasts that guard the depths of the ocean, and are sometimes found by the bigger sea-faring vessels.”

“But how are they to eat?” Ydring asks, and several laugh.

Caleb latches on to that thought - the ocean, the vastness of it, overwhelming and soothing all at once - and tries to instill that calm in himself now. When more servants come through to clear the dishes and bring out the final course, Molly’s hand disappears, but he must be able to see their feet down there, to know when it’s ‘safe’ again to put his hand back on Caleb’s knee.  _Higher_  this time. Caleb considers taking a risk to let his hand fall to his lap, and swats blindly at it, but he’s partly frozen and partly thrilled. Above everything else, he needs to stay at least somewhat alert.

“I shouldn’t like being on a boat,” Udren is saying with a dismissive gesture. “You put yourself out in the open, at the mercy of wind. It’s foolishness.”

“Nein,” Caleb says softly, when Molly’s fingertips inch further up his thigh. In a bid to distract him, he leans forward and gets his wine glass, lowering it down to share it, but Molly’s released him entirely already, tail unwrapped from his ankle and hand off him completely. Molly takes the cup from Caleb’s hand.

When he looks down, Molly is tipping up the glass with both hands, drinking and then licking his lips slowly as he admires the taste. It takes a moment, but he notices Caleb’s glance, and immediately his face changes from lost in thought to apologetic:  _sorry_ , he’s saying, and Caleb feels mild surprise as he takes the glass back.

He reflects on this as he puts the glass back in its place on the table. Why  _should_  he be surprised Molly would apologize for going too far? For stopping when Caleb said something to stop it? Hasn’t Molly been in bed with him before, many nights now, making no attempt to touch him or disrobe him? How different has Molly’s experience been from Caleb’s - wanting, but assuming that it couldn’t be reciprocated?

“I don’t know the geography of Tal’Dorei,” Garrad is saying dismissively. “You know, the hobgoblin capital.”

“In the far south?” Caleb asks, and Garrad nods. “Tz'arrm.”

Garrad snaps and points to Caleb, smiling. “Our Duke does not forget a map,” he says. “Yes! Tz’arrm. It was said that they fled there, and…”

Caleb gently taps twice at the spot on his thigh where Molly had laid his head. It takes a few moments, but Molly’s head returns, lightly, and Caleb finds a strange contentment in running his fingers through his hair over and over, slowly, both to reassure Molly that all is well and to reassure himself that this is not a dream.

His last of the meal is going untouched. Caleb picks up his fork with his free hand, using the side of it to cut through something that’s not unlike a honey cake. There are those bitter red berries dotted through it, which makes his nose wrinkle, but after trying a bite he finds that the honey cake is steeped in some syrup, and the berries cut through the sweetness nicely. He takes another bite, another, and decides with a strange excitement that he should share.

It crumbles too easily to hand or feed a piece, though, so he carefully breaks a good piece off and spears it with his fork. He switches the fork to his right hand, then lowers it back down, roughly in the area in front of Molly’s face where he can see it and try it if he likes.

After a few seconds, the fork dips in his hand, and then lips touch briefly against the inside of his wrist like a small ‘thank you’. Caleb stifles a genuine flush and brings his fork back to his plate, set on getting another large piece to spear and hold down for Molly.

Caleb brings his fork down a second time, and then again, and he can feel himself becoming a little more confident now. Perhaps he’ll scratch his nails lightly along Molly’s neck again. Molly seemed to like it, and -

“I think it’s time for brandy,” Ydring says with a grin, and several of the men shout agreement and begin to get up and move to the side room.

Caleb swallows. Already - he has to get  _up,_ now, and the only way he can do that with any dignity is completely in thanks to the layers of clothing obscuring his erection. As he feels Molly pull away so Caleb can pull his chair out, he sees several companions giving their men demure looks as they leave out the other door, toward the chambers. What is this about?

Caleb turns to Phaendras, who already knows what he’s about to ask and is rolling his eyes. “Many of the girls like to go and have a change of clothes before the last of the revelries,” he says, hand stroking fondly over the smooth hair of his companion. “Another excuse for them to show off, I think.”

“Ah.” Caleb doesn’t even have to look down to know that Molly has both overheard this and has already risen to go join them in the opportunity for new clothes. “Thank you. So much. For giving him that idea.”

Phaendras grins at Caleb’s flat delivery and shrugs his shoulders. “They always get their way on these little matters,” he says, and Caleb puts on a bored sigh, turning to the side room, dreading what Molly is going to reappear in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ivadeshin).


	9. Chapter 9

A few servants file in after the men as everyone gets settled in the side room. Caleb spots Molly’s favorite in the back, standing straight and continually looking to the girl next to her for direction on where to stand. Caleb guesses that she doesn’t normally do this job, either, but either the large nature of the gathering or her recent sale to one of the guests meant she was pulled in. He slouches in his carved wooden chair, gesturing her over with a curt wave and pointing to a spot behind him.

“Your grace.” She sounds grateful to be summoned to focus directly for him. Caleb wouldn’t be surprised if some of the other men, raucous and already quite drunk, seem like less safe options to pour drinks for.

“Brandy?” He asks, holding out his glass for her to fill. She nods.

“White grapes from the Menagerie Coast, your grace. Aged in black oak.”

He sniffs it, composing the careful boredom of a man who’s used to what he’s pretty sure is the most expensive thing he’s ever put in his mouth. “One glass of this will be fine.” He glances to the door, but Molly isn’t back yet. “After that, back to the wine.”

“Yes, your grace.” She takes a few steps back, disappearing from his peripheral vision. Caleb takes a few moments to take in the scene and reflect. While Molly plays his part like a beautiful doll who loves the attention and trusts his owner to play nicely with him, this girl is… a less idealized version of a person as property. Every time he gives her a direction he can see something in her unwinding a little. She’s allowing herself to believe her new master is a reasonable man with reasonable expectations. Even if Ydring has been decent to her, that doesn’t mean she hasn’t had to live with the fear hanging over her head that things could change at any moment.

Caleb hasn’t had warm thoughts for the Empire for some time, but there are some areas that raise his hackles more than others.

“Ah,” Phaendras says, making a jokingly exaggerated sound of acknowledgement as the doors push open and his girl walks through in slippered feet. Caleb has to look away after a quick glance - the shoes are elaborately embroidered with silver thread, flimsy and shaped to her small feet, but the rest of the outfit is almost impossible for him to take in without blushing. It looks like a silk nightgown with a sheer grey kimono over top. When she drapes herself at her man’s feet, half across his lap, he chuckles and pats her head.

Caleb takes a sip of the brandy; it’s as strong as he expected, with the apricot and caramel lingering on his tongue. He can feel the alcohol burn as it goes down, mingling with his other drinks and his meal to give him a loose-limbed, jittery sort of calm.

“You have been an excellent host,” Tyrr says across the room, and several of the others raise their voices in agreement. Caleb holds his glass up as many others follow suit.

“To Ydring,” Caleb declares, voice rising over the sound of the doors opening again, “and to the strength of unity and-”

Caleb’s eyes drift just enough to the man standing in the door, and he freezes. Molly’s chin is delicately tipped up as he holds still in the doorway, politely waiting for Caleb’s toast to be concluded before he walks through the room to meet him - he is wearing a red ensemble that Caleb has not seen before, a long full red skirt with gold-trimmed layers that sits high at the waist, a matching short-sleeved shrug that hugs the lines of his shoulders and only covers most of his biceps. He is wearing no accompanying shirt or blouse. The splash of color from his tattoos flickers in the warm torchlight, broken up by the shadows of muscle definition along his abdomen; flashes of runes and feathers and eyes. Caleb realizes he has stopped talking completely.

“-and anything else, good Duke?” Ydring laughs.

Caleb collects himself, forcing his gaze to the others. “And - to the Empire.” He reaches his arm up a touch higher, as far as his glass will go, and the others laugh good naturedly and cheer along, toasting each other, downing the brandy in large swallows and talking amongst each other.

Molly walks barefoot across the room, red eyes low and demure as he settles at Caleb’s right side. Caleb takes a moment to stare at the top of the other man’s head, the sinuous lines of his body broken up by rich expanses of fabric.

“Hello there,” Molly says in a quiet voice, not looking away from the red-cheeked men who are leaning over to each other in friendly conversation, laughing too loudly and wiping the drips from their beards. Caleb takes a stuttering breath and slouches further in his chair.

“You really are insufferable,” Caleb says with no feeling. The doors open again and Dretta comes in, wearing something long and silky, mouth in a tight frown when she spots Molly across the room.

“Everybody else likes me,” Molly counters with a gentle lilt.

“No shoes?”

“None matched.”

“And I suppose there was no blouse to go with the skirt and  _jacket_.”

“I didn’t like the fit.” Molly tilts his head back, fluttering his eyelashes slowly and smiling like a cat that got the cream. “I might get a bit of a chill, though, now that I think on it.”

Caleb knows what he’s aiming for and refuses to give it, at least at first. He holds the brandy glass down for Molly to have some. Molly makes an intrigued sound, reminding Caleb just how pleasant and expensive the stuff is, and when Caleb gets his glass back it is nearly empty.

“Glutton.”

Molly’s tail swishes contentedly. “Flirt.”

Several more companions start to trickle in, until only Errid hasn’t returned. Caleb engages in some light conversation about next year’s harvest, wishing such a dull topic wasn’t so commonly of interest in this circle, before finishing the last of his brandy and holding the glass out to the left until it’s taken from him. While he waits for the wine glass to be brought, Caleb surveys the room a few more times, trying to keep Molly from completely dominating his attention.

There were some debates in the past few days, and details in the final documents, that he expected to lead to a few sour faces. Yet, everyone seems relaxed and accommodated - the only one who has been mildly odd is Hargan, who is probably just anxious because his companion is taking too long. Caleb reaches out blindly and finds one of Molly’s horn, tugging it gently until Molly leans his head on Caleb’s thigh and he can run his fingers through his hair again. The jewelry’s soft metallic sounds are lost in the white noise of the revelry.

“Your wine, your grace.” The voice at his shoulder is soft and comforting, and Caleb takes the glass and has a brief, immediately quashed wish that he could live in this kind of luxury a bit more often. (Perhaps they just need to do more con jobs.) After a light sip, he realizes that the brandy was more than sufficient and he should continue to pace himself. He passes the glass down to Molly, who presses his lips to the side of Caleb’s wrist before taking the glass.

Caleb flushes and keeps his face neutral. “Your name?” he says, only just turning his head in the beginnings of the girl’s direction.

A beat. “I’m sorry, your grace?” The doors are opening and someone else is coming in.

“Your name. First or last, whatever you prefer.”

The next pause is longer. “Malvina, your grace.”

“Malvina.” Caleb nods and looks at the room again, feeling some wheels turn in his mind. “Thank you, that’s all for now.”

He feels the presence near him hesitate a moment before moving back to the wall again, and Caleb strokes the pads of his fingertips over Molly’s scalp, hoping his question didn’t come off as something he… didn’t intend. His interest in getting to know this girl doesn’t have any dark undertones, but he couldn’t blame the woman for being concerned. Something about the patterns he’s tracing on Molly’s skin must be more distracted than usual, because Molly reaches up to hold his hand in his, tipping his head up again to look at Caleb with searching eyes.

“Your new servant’s name is Malvina,” Caleb informs him softly.

Molly’s eyebrows lift a little. “I meant to ask but I kept forgetting,” he confesses.

“We can discuss your plans for her later.” Meaning, whatever their real, actual plans will be for leaving her somewhere she can start a life without being completely without resources. Maybe that leftover gold from the chest could-

“ _I challenge you_ ,” Tyrr’s voice bellows loudly over the din of the room, and at once Hargan is on his feet, his plate clattering across the floor and ringing loudly against the flagstones. The room seems to freeze in place.

Caleb’s mind shifts instantly to combat. Quickly determining that while it was Tyrr’s voice he heard, it’s Hargan alone who is unsheathing his weapon, Caleb reaches one hand out toward the man, his other hand dropping his wineglass to clasp a small piece of iron in his pocket. Hargan’s body goes rigid, arm frozen in the arcing sweep of taking his short sword from its sheath. Tyrr, half out of his chair in drunken shock, has one arm in front of his face while scrabbling for his own weapon.

“Be still!” Ydring barks. Even in his intoxication, Tyrr’s hand stills, eyes locked in horrified confusion at the man frozen above him.

“I am holding him,” Caleb says through gritted teeth, hand still outstretched, “but someone had better start explaining things.”

“I don’t - I didn’t say that,” Tyrr says, and it is then that Caleb realizes that Molly is missing from his side. “I did not challenge-”

“Liar,” Hargan hisses through gritted teeth, and Caleb can feel his holding spell flickering as Hargan’s will presses against it. Out of Caleb’s peripheral vision, he sees Molly, who has snuck over to the far side of the room and is standing perfectly still behind an empty carved chair. His eyes are locked on something Caleb can’t see from his position. Errid, Hargan’s companion, did he come in when Caleb was distracted, he-

In a flash, Hargan’s body seizes up and releases, and he fiercely finishes the arc of his unsheathing. Tyrr is still in melee distance before him. There’s nothing Caleb can do in time.

There is a sharp clang as the swing of the blade is stopped short by a metal candlestick, gripped tight in Molly’s hands as he moves himself bodily between the two men to keep the blade in position. There’s a fraction of a second where the two struggle to control the force of the two objects, and mere months ago Caleb would not have been able to detect the subtleties of this kind of battle - Hagran’s arms are too low in the swing for him to continue to put his whole body behind it, and Molly’s feet are firmly planted, bare feet on the flagstones and skirts swishing around his ankles as he repositions and finally parries the short sword aside. Caleb breathes out. The tiefling has just enough time before Hagran can respond to headbutt the man in the nose, sending him stumbling back a step. By then, the other men are on him, one on Hargan’s left arm and two holding his right, hauling him backwards and off his feet.

“Errid, your grace,” a voice at Caleb’s side whispers, and he looks wildly around the room until he spots a moving figure near the servants’ door. He stands and points, sending Molly into motion; he leaps into Errid, causing them both to tumble to the ground and become a blur together as the remaining men cluster around them in an attempt to figure out how to help. From here Caleb can see a tiefling familiar with brawls and a human trying his best to, in a panic, squirm away and deflect blows. But then the men cluster in still closer, blocking his view.

“ _Move_ ,” Caleb barks, striding forward and watching the men part for him. Another holding spell doesn’t turn out to be necessary - Molly’s tail is lashing wildly behind him as he pins the other man on his back, one hand tight around his throat, repeating something Caleb can’t hear.

“What is it?”

“-his  _hand_ ,” Molly snarls, not looking away from the terrified man’s face. “The ring. Take the ring from him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone continuing to read and comment! Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ivadeshin).


	10. Chapter 10

Garrad is beside him at once, grabbing Errid’s wrists and finally determining which hand has a ring on it. The room becomes stifled as guards come in to pull Hagran out. In the shuffle of bodies and the clearing of intoxicated heads, it’s calming down but still chaotic, still unsettled, and there’s a general feeling of relief when the ring comes off and Errid, defeated, rolls on to his side and allows himself to be hauled away next.

Molly directs Garrad impatiently toward Caleb, who brings him the ring.

“Your pet wanted you to have this,” he mutters over the din. Ydring is coming over as Caleb inspects the copper band and step-cut serpentine. It looks suspiciously innocuous - cheap materials for this caliber of people. Caleb almost immediately notices the little arcane flickers around the stone.

“The shout to combat came too far from the right. It didn’t come from Tyrr.” Garrad and Ydring jump as Molly stands beside them, expression grim. “Errid wasn’t near Hagran when the fight broke out.”

Caleb has no time to explain or apologize for his companion speaking in front of them. His fingertips gesture over the ring a few times and its purpose becomes clear. “It allows you to throw your voice and imitate others.” He holds it out to Ydring. “This is Tyrr’s comeuppance for winning the southern valleys, I would guess.”

Ydring is trying to follow this as Garrad stares in awe at Molly, who seems completely unapologetic for his transgression. “What brings you to say that?” Ydring presses.

The brandy feels days away now. Caleb’s mind reaches back to the documents signed earlier. “The southern valleys went to Tyrr. Among other things, Hagran was desperate for that land - he boasts of his people’s successes but he has stopped exporting crop goods for two years straight now. His own fields are failing.” Caleb nods across the room. “Phaendras has been trading the majority of grains in his stead; he mentioned so two days ago.”

Garrad and Ydring exchange glances. This might seem too suspect, except that Caleb has been spending nearly a week proving over and over that he forgets and misses absolutely nothing. Molly is sternly looking toward the doors as they shut, the muffled chaos of the two new prisoners getting fainter and fainter.

“Ydring,” Caleb says, “I am not familiar with these legal details - if Tyrr was killed in a duel he supposedly instigated,”

“On my land, and the victor had…” Ydring trails off, scowling. “Yes, Hargan would have been at liberty to bid for those lands once again, and with almost no contest.”

“You blocked that sword with a  _candlestick_ ,” Garrad mutters to Molly, eyes wide.

“It was bronze,” Molly replies evenly. “Beautifully crafted, if I may say so.”

“My companion is energized from the night’s excitement,” Caleb says, making a token attempt to apologize for him speaking out of turn so much. Ydring seems to be assuaged, waving it away.

“Are you both well? Where is Tyrr?”

“I am here,” Tyrr says, pushing somewhat wildly into the circle as several men reach for him, trying to pull him back. “My lord, I did not call for a-”

“We know, you oaf, our walking dictionary and apparently  _wizard to boot_  just explained the whole thing.” Ydring holds the small ring up and shakes it before sliding it away in his pocket. “You’ve done nothing. Hargan’s forfeited his new properties and we’ll have to sort that mess out tomorrow.”

Several men groan, although a few look intrigued to make the most of the new opportunities. “I am retiring,” Caleb says shortly, and grabs Molly’s wrist. “His properties are of no interest to me and I plan to leave as scheduled.”

Ydring seems reluctant to let them leave so soon after this violent upset, but after a few moments of Caleb holding his ground, Ydring’s face falls a little. “Yes,” he says finally. “You have certainly done enough for us. Go, rest. Leave as you will tomorrow with my blessings for safe travel.”

Caleb gives him a slow bow at the waist before turning for the door, feeling Molly move easily with him through the throngs of confused men and frightened companions. The hallways are completely empty, servants hiding and guards otherwise occupied, and so Caleb hears the footsteps as a third person follows them out the two large doors.

“Your grace-”

“Malvina.” Caleb turns, feeling his robes swirl dramatically around him with the movement. The girl looks a little frozen herself, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Forcing the stern expression from his face, Caleb takes a breath. “Are you well?”

“Y-yes, your grace.” She inclines her head. “You said-? Tomorrow?”

Of course - she wants to know when to be ready to leave. “Noon,” Caleb says shortly. “I plan to rest to my satisfaction, and we will collect my personal guards as we leave the inner ring. You will have all your belongings, understand? There is room in the carriage for anything you wish to take.”

Malvina nods, eager to agree with the firm tone but surprised by the content of the words. “Yes, your grace.”

“You’re not mine until midnight, but that’s about an hour from now, yes?”

“I believe so, your grace.”

“You will retire to your chambers at midnight exactly and try to get some rest after this mess.”

A small, hopeful smile tugs at the edges of her lips. “Yes, your grace.”

“Malvina.” Molly lifts his eyebrows, holding her gaze a moment. “That brandy?”

She blinks at him and Caleb suspects she already knows where he’s going with this. “Yes?”

“A bottle or two would likely fit in your pack.”

Malvina looks between the two of them, then back over her shoulder. “It likely… would.”

Molly nods and gives her an exaggerated wink.

Caleb dismisses her with a brief gesture and turns, continuing down the hall and no longer bothering to pull Molly. There is a staircase, and then another turn in yet another freezing stone hallway, and finally they are at the safety and comfort of their own door, which Caleb hauls open unceremoniously for Molly to walk through. When they are both inside, he pushes it shut, turning the lock and rummaging in his pocket for his silver thread.

“You aren’t seriously-”

“I will be  _sure_.” The excitement is thrumming in his hands as he pulls the spool out, but he’s alive because he’s careful, and so he continues.

“There isn’t a third man. The only reason Errid was in on it was because he felt he had no choice.”

Caleb mutters to himself and begins his alarm spell anyway, solidly ignoring Molly’s words and appearance as he goes through the motions.

As he moves through the room, Molly gets out of his way, and it isn’t until Caleb has made his full circuit, back to his starting place at the door, that Molly speaks again.

“Are you completely done?”

Caleb clears his throat. He feels a little calmer from having made the area safer, and perhaps from having something to focus on other than conflict or want. “Ja, I am.”

“Because I feel I’ve been extremely patient. And I am running out of said patience.”

“You are the one who insisted we not be late or leave ea-” Caleb swallows as Molly’s hands slide under his robe, settling on his hips and tugging him just an inch closer. Caleb stumbles that mere inch and finds himself nose to nose with the tiefling. “Oh. Hello.”

“Caleb,” Molly says, deliberately slow as Caleb feels himself begin to tremble. “Tell me what you want.”

“ _You_.”

Molly’s hands tighten at his waist - Caleb feels his sharp intake of breath just slightly restricted by strong hands - and he leans in, mouth against his ear. “I want specifics.”

Caleb panics a moment, terrified that he doesn’t have the imagination or experience to give an answer that would satisfy. But in a flash he thinks back to the past few days, the fight, having to do all this lying and all this work-

“Dethrone me.” Caleb swallows thickly. “I’m not. I am not this, and you know it.”

Caleb dearly wishes he could see Molly’s expression. Molly’s fingers curl into the thick fabric over his back, pulling their bodies flush together. Caleb can feel as Molly turns his head toward him, and turns as well to meet the kiss this time. It’s slow at first and then messier, unending, punctuated with gasps and flashes of teeth.

Caleb can feel frustratingly little through all his layers of clothing, but Molly’s high-waisted skirt leaves his him exposed from the ribs up. When he gets the nerve to raise his hand up and sweep his palm over the warm, tattooed skin, Molly makes a soft, low sound into Caleb’s mouth that makes his hand stutter on Molly’s chest.

“Give me that cloak,” Molly says, and something about the tone of it is new and strange. Caleb lets go of him, backing up enough to fumble with the clasp and sweep it over his shoulders, holding it out to Molly. Molly takes it, examining the soft fur lining a moment before folding it over his arm so he can hold out his other hand. “And the circlet.”

This feels more important. Caleb swallows, reaching up and picking the iron circlet up with both hands and handing it over. Molly smiles brightly like he’s been given a thoughtful gift, turning it over in his hands a few times before setting it on his own head. It just barely fits between his horns, but after a bit of fussing and pushing his hair back out of his face, Molly looks back to Caleb.

“How do I look?”

Caleb looks the other man over. The tiefling’s chest is still rising and falling a little quickly, and his mouth is dark and wet from their kisses, but his grin is roguish, and somehow Molly, of course, manages to make a little crown work with a skirt and little else. The cloak over his arm is probably twice the fabric he’s actually wearing.

“Like…a prince?” Caleb tries, and Molly laughs.

“That’ll do,” Molly says, and surprises Caleb by backing up and sitting on the edge of the massive bed. Caleb blinks, watching him throw the cloak out between them, lining up, to cover the cold flagstones between them. Caleb watches it drift down the rest of the way and come to rest. “Now. Why don’t you get on your knees and come over?”


	11. Chapter 11

Something like fear holds Caleb in place for a moment, watching Molly get comfortable on his side, chin propped up in his hand.

“Take your time,” Molly says, and seems to mean it earnestly. His feet, barely visible in the voluminous folds of gold-tinged red, are tucked together and brushing against one bedpost. Caleb’s eyes linger on the peacock tattoo sprawling along the column of Molly’s neck, the multi-rayed sun further down, the sinuous lines of muscle across his abdomen. The curve of his hip, hidden but accentuated by the skirt.

Caleb can still taste Molly’s mouth on his lips. He’s shaking a little as he lowers himself down onto his knees, taking a moment to steady himself. Molly’s eyes are - Caleb can’t  _look_ at him right now, wants desperately to do this but he can’t  _look_  at him, so he stares down at the fur lined cloak as he crawls on his knees until he’s within reach. Molly’s hand is there, just in his field of vision, slowly gliding into his hair to pet him as if he were a dog that came when summoned.

“What a sweet concubine I have,” Molly remarks contentedly, making Caleb’s eyes widen and his heart slam against his rib cage. Is that - is that something he wants? To pretend, that is? Caleb is still trying to figure out how to react when Molly’s hand tips his face back a little, palm skimming across his cheek and down his neck, stroking warm soft lines down to his collar. Caleb lets out a soft moan and knows that he’s answered his own question.

Molly chuckles in response. “Here, sweet. Sit. Put your back against the bed.” Caleb feels himself move, elated that Molly’s hand remains connected to him in soft touches, and when Caleb is settled he can look down and see Molly’s arm reaching across his body, stroking up and down his chest in soothing little motions. Molly moves behind him, laying down further to reach more, and his fingertips brush over Caleb’s stomach. Caleb swallows and shuts his eyes completely, taking in the situation and feeling his breath speeding up. This is - this is exciting and mesmerizing all at once. His body feels like it’s not sure whether to panic or go into a trance.

“Good?” Molly asks, hand rising up and sweeping Caleb’s hair away from his face.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?” So gentle.

Caleb forces air into his lungs. “Yes, Highness.”

“Good.” Molly’s fingertips curl delicately around his jawline, cupping his cheek, and Caleb exhales and tilts his face into the touch. “What a sweet thing.”

Something immediately decompresses in Caleb’s mind, and he has no idea why. He feels Molly’s touch more distinctly now, as if other sounds or distractions in the room have suddenly fallen away - when Molly’s hand moves on, fingers tugging at the top button of Caleb’s shirt, he immediately begins to open it to accommodate. Molly’s fingertips touch the next one. Caleb unbuttons that as well. Molly’s hand strokes its way underneath the fabric, reaching bare skin that feels like it ignites at such a warm touch.

“No undershirt?” Molly sounds lightly amused. “You still don’t know how to dress yourself?”

“Too... hot,” Caleb says, finding it strangely difficult to talk. “It’s been warm enough with all the wool.” Molly’s hand, though. Molly’s hand is remarkably warm and his body is soaking the touch up like it can’t get enough. Up and down over Caleb’s breastbone, his collarbones, up the column of his neck again, making him swallow reflexively.

“Well, why don’t you get it off for me?” Molly asks. Caleb barely nods, very reluctant to risk dislodging the touch, and begins fumbling the buttons open one by one, eyes still shut and face tilted toward the ceiling as Molly traces the lines of his throat.

Caleb’s hands are shaking when he reaches the last button, opening his shirt to the chilled air of the bedroom. Molly’s touch is there almost instantly, and Caleb shivers as the fingertips sweep across softness and faded pale scars.

“Lovely,” Molly says, and something decompresses further in Caleb’s mind. He can feel himself breathe out as if by reflex. “What a pretty picture you make, here at the foot of my bed.” Caleb’s mind can’t keep up with this, with the narrative they’re spinning together, but his body is  _singing_  with it, almost as if his pulse is moving in time with Molly’s fingertips tracing the faint ridges of each rib. “Do you like it here, pet?”

“Yes,” Caleb says without thinking. “Yes, Highness.” He can hear and feel Molly shifting again, eyes opening in surprise when he feels hot breath wash against his bare neck and shoulder. Molly is leaning forward a little, expression perfectly serene, eyes glimmering slightly in the dim light when he catches Caleb’s glance.

“Hold still, pet.”

And so Caleb does. He stares forward and feels Molly’s nose brush affectionately into his hair. Feels his lips press there briefly. The arm comes back, embracing him firmly from behind as Molly’s lips brush against his earlobe. Caleb makes a soft sound of - of  _distress_ , of his self control feeling worn thin, but Molly’s tongue is already against his pulse point, then his teeth, delicate and persistent until Caleb cries out in earnest. Molly’s arm holds him tighter, fingers closing around one pectoral and squeezing gently. Caleb is ashamed to feel the point of one of his nipples brushing against Molly’s palm, his arousal must be so clear - he doesn’t have to look down to know his pale skin is flushed over completely.

“So sensitive.” Molly presses his lips to the spot below Caleb’s ear. “You’re worth every coin I paid for you.”

Caleb stutters out another helpless, wordless sound.

“Don’t worry.” His voice is deep and soothing, right beside him and deep in his bones. “I’m going to be very kind to you. I’m going to make sure you enjoy yourself too.” His thumb sweeps lightly over Caleb’s nipple. “ _Are_  you enjoying this?”

Caleb’s breath is caught in his throat, so he can’t reply. When Molly tries again, fingers pinching gently and then tugging at the tender flesh, Caleb gasps and feels his body push back against Molly’s, the back of his head connecting with Molly’s chest.

“That’s what I love to hear. Mmm.” Molly’s lips press into his hair again, an affectionate kiss, as he continues teasing and tugging at Caleb’s nipple. Caleb can feel his cock rigid and desperate in his trousers, needing so badly to be touched, but he stays still as he can and takes it as Molly begins to hum to himself.

“What can you do for me, I wonder?” It’s rhetorical, but Caleb wants to answer - wants to promise everything, anything, that he’s willing to learn. When Molly finally lets go of his nipple and brushes his fingertips against Caleb’s lower lip, it takes him a moment to realize what’s being asked.

He can... he can do this. He may not be able to do it perfectly, but he knows enough. Caleb licks his lips and then opens them, barely, leaning forward a little to take the two fingers into his mouth when Molly does not press them in.

They taste like nothing at first, and then Caleb can taste the faintest remnants of those honey cakes, sweet and lingering. He concentrates on that as he sucks the fingers into his mouth completely, licking and keeping his lips over his teeth, a little concerted when Molly doesn’t thrust them in or out. Caleb has to do it himself, bobbing his head back and forth slightly as he sucks them down, stroking more confidently with his tongue now, pulling back and licking and beginning all over again. He feels like he’s starting to find some sort of rhythm to it when the fingers pull back and disappear. He’s in the middle of a sad, hopeful sound when Molly grabs him by the chin, turning him for a kiss.

They barely break for air. Caleb’s sure Molly says ‘fuck’ into his mouth at least once, not letting go of his grip on him, and when Caleb’s finally released and pushed back a little, minutes later, Molly looks flushed and gorgeous and a little more predatory than before.

“You make me want to take more than I should,” Molly intones, and Caleb doesn’t know exactly what that means but knows enough to shiver. “Your boots. Get them off.”

Caleb can’t move quickly enough. Something about a clear direction to go, an easy way to obey, it makes everything feel… clearer? His boots are a size too large anyway and come off without much work. Then his socks, and then Caleb’s hands hover over his trouser fastenings, looking hopefully over his shoulder.

It’s hard to look at Molly but it’s also hard to look  _away_  from him. Curls of hair have come free from the circlet, curling over the tiefling’s forehead in loose, messy tendrils. One of his hands is playing over his own hip, like it’s considering moving lower, to his-

“You want to undress?” Molly asks, breaking Caleb out of his reverie.

Caleb swallows and looks down at himself. Even with all the roomy fabric, his own erection is distinct and unmistakable. “Y-yes, please. Highness.” Saying it to Molly while facing him is a little more jarring than he’d expected, and he feels an embarrassed flush run up his face and down his chest. He looks down at the cloak again, startled when Molly’s hand comes out and cups his chin.

“Slowly,” Molly whispers.

It’s agony. Caleb can hardly get his fingers to work properly, and Molly’s thumb keeps brushing against his lower lip, teasing at the sensitized skin there and distracting Caleb through what should be a very simple task. When the laces are finally undone, Caleb hooks his thumbs in at his hipbones, taking a pause before pushing everything down. He sneaks a glance up as he does so, desperate to see what Molly’s expression can tell him.

Molly’s biting his lip, eyes pleased and hungry as the red curls of Caleb’s pubic hair become visible, then the base of his cock, and Caleb can tell the exact moment when Molly becomes surprised at how much there is to expose. Caleb has given so little thought to his size until now, with his own experience being little more than fumblings in the dark, still clothed, but now Molly’s eyes are widening, flush darkening as Caleb’s thick erection finally lifts free of the clothes and hangs heavy between his legs. Without looking, Caleb knows it’s sticky and smeared with precome, but he can’t be ashamed by that right now, not when Molly is finally tugging up the fabric of his skirt.

“All the way off,” Molly breathes, and Caleb nods jerkily and leans back to wrestle out of the trousers. When he’s free of them, and back up on his knees, Molly’s hand is under the tiered folds of his skirt, clearly stroking himself, and Caleb feels a wild exhilaration paired with disappointment that he is not, at least yet, permitted to see.

Caleb presses his lips together and tries: “Please, Highness.” He straightens his back a little, feeling the head of his cock brush momentarily against his thigh and gasping at even that brief stimulation. He’s hoping that, burn scars aside, he makes some sort of nice view for Molly, who looks like some sort of prized, intricate fetish painting that would be hung over a mantle. His tail, no longer so covered by the skirt, is swishing back and forth with a curl at the end that Caleb doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

Molly seems to be… considering him. “You’ll earn my cock,” he says finally, making Caleb swallow and feel himself twitch. “Touch yourself.”

Surely not. “What?”

Molly tilts his head forward, the jewelry in his horns glinting in the faint light. “Don’t you want to please your Prince?” He pulls his hand out from under the skirt, reaching across the short distance and pressing two fingers against Caleb’s lips. Already a quick study, Caleb lets them in, licking them and beginning to suck. The easy work is soothing, somehow, and he lets out a shuddering breath when he pulls back for air. “There’s a good boy.”

Caleb’s world tilts a moment, and in his surprise he loses some of his balance, pitching forward on his knees and only stopped from falling by Molly’s hand on his forehead. He throws a hand out and steadies himself on the wooden frame of the bed, looking up at Molly with confusion and an incredible bolt of arousal.

Molly’s eyes look huge. Darker. “Is that what you like hearing?” His voice has gone husky. “That you’re a good boy?”

It  _is_. Caleb opens his mouth and then shuts it again, choosing instead to lean into the hand still near his forehead. He shuts his eyes for good measure, trying to calm his breathing, to understand what’s pulling him from everywhere and nowhere like the tides. It’s just Molly’s voice, his words, but.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Caleb whines in the back of his throat and reaches down to his cock. It’s aching to be touched, sensitive and painfully hard, and when he grips it with shaking fingers there’s a feeling of immense relief through his body, made better by Molly’s gentle caresses to his cheek and lower lip.

He wants to come, he wants to stay like this forever, it’s so much - his thighs are already beginning to shake as he strokes the precome over the length of his cock, slowly, some shyness still burning in the back of his head but not stopping him completely. When he finally draws his fingers back up over the head, making himself gasp, Molly’s hand scratches lightly up his neck, making him tremble further, and when he bites his lip and teases his palm over the slit, Molly does it again.

“Fuck,” Molly whispers.

Caleb grunts back, mouth falling open as he tries to get more air into his lungs. His cock doesn’t seem to care that someone is watching, or worse, is perhaps all the more rigid for it. Caleb moves hesitant fingers up and down, barely gripping, afraid he’ll lose control. Molly’s hand is traveling over his body, stopping on his abdomen where the muscles are tightening and releasing as his body struggles to hold his position and keep his orgasm back.

The little points of contact are barely enough. Caleb’s body feels desperate for more touching, more  _words_ , and when Molly’s hand trails near his face Caleb turns to it, pressing his cheek into the palm, then his mouth, quick messy kisses as he loses himself and begins to thrust into his hand in earnest.

“Do you want to come like this?” Molly asks softly. His fingernails are digging in to his neck again, making him whine.

Caleb has to find his voice. “N-no, Highness.” His eyes open and peek at Molly laying sprawled on the bed, flushed and so close but not close enough. His hand feels so  _good_  right now, Molly’s attention feels even better, but to really feel Molly’s body, to feel that inhuman warmth all along his skin would be -

“Stop.”


	12. Chapter 12

Caleb’s hand slows and stops, finally moving to his thigh where he digs his fingers in.

“Good boy.”

Caleb’s whole body shudders. Molly’s hand is stroking through his hair again, soothing, and Caleb can’t help but whine again as he’s pulled closer. Molly’s tugging his skirt up with his other hand, and Caleb’s mouth begins watering as he realizes what -

“Would you like to?” Molly asks softly.

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb gasps, breath coming unevenly as Molly’s cock is exposed, framed by tattoos on his abdomen and thighs. Caleb can’t make out what they are, just swirls of vibrant color muted by the dim light. The cock itself is curved, beautiful, darker purple toward its head. “H-highness. Please, tell me what to do.”

“Lick,” Molly says, letting go of him for the first time to hold his cock at the base, aimed to Caleb’s mouth and bobbing slightly.

Caleb can’t stand the lack of contact and instantly knee-crawls forward as close as he can, burying his nose in the nest of dark curls and laying the flat of his tongue along the tiefling’s erection. He feels the shudder more than he sees it, and his body responds in kind. It feels like his own cock, just shaped a little differently, and as Caleb wets his lips and licks from Molly’s gripping hand to the tip, he finds a deep salty taste, strange but not unpleasant. Pleasing Molly is so good, it’s making his own cock twitch, but what Caleb really craves are more  _reactions_ from Molly, more assurance that he’s doing well - he licks again, wetter, more forcefully, until Molly’s hand returns to the back of his head, pulling him in tighter ( _yes_ ) and moving him up to the tip again.

Unable to stop himself, Caleb reaches up and pulls Molly’s hand from holding his cock, planting it messily on his shoulder instead as he moves in and suckles gently on the head of his cock. Molly’s warm fingers dig in to his scalp and shoulder, seeming to fight the urge to pull him in tighter again, and Caleb makes a satisfied moan in the back of his throat and opens wider, lips stretched around the girth, trying to see how much he can take.

“Fuck,” Molly gasps above him, and Caleb takes down enough that he feels it brush against the back of his throat. He backs up immediately, startled by how quickly his gag reflex threatened to kick in, but Molly doesn’t seem upset - he’s writhing a little against the expensive furs, what Caleb can see of his tattoos shifting in the faint light, still partially obscured by the red fabric. Caleb grips the furs right at the edge of the bed and laps up as much of the taste as he can at Molly’s slit, over and over until there’s more to take, and Molly’s hands have met at the nape of his neck, fingernails digging two matching crescents into his hair.

“Mmm,” Caleb says in protest, when Molly stops. Molly’s fretting hands come back, dig in deeper, and Caleb makes a satisfied noise. He tries again to take Molly down, inch by inch, only getting halfway.

“You like it when I hurt you?”

Caleb makes a soft helpless sound of agreement as he feels the other man’s cock brush against the roof of his mouth, further, the back of his throat again. As he pulls back, Caleb feels the hands at his nape curl into his hair and tug firmly, making his body jerk in surprise, but it’s  _good,_  it’s just right, and Caleb tilts along with the pull, giving in to it, feeling his own cock brush against the blanket hanging off the bed. “Bitte,” he breathes. “Bitte, bitte, bitte.”

Molly says something Caleb can’t quite hear, and he’s moving, crouched on the bed now and hauling Caleb over by his grip in his hair until Caleb has to scramble and crawl up on to the bed, out of sorts but almost unable to breathe from arousal, not released until he’s on hands and knees on the familiar warmth of the bed, facing the headboard.

“Ass up,” Molly growls, and Caleb’s so stunned by the order that he doesn’t move. Molly’s hands grip his hips, lifting them up, and Caleb’s eyes widen at the vulnerable position. “Yeah?”

Caleb takes a moment to realize what that question means, that he’s checking, making sure - “Ja, yes,” Caleb says quickly. “Highness. Highness.” It sounds like a prayer, repeated until he gets what he needs, although he has no clue what Molly plans to-

The smack against his ass is hard and sudden, cracking in the air and making his shoulders go rigid and tight. Caleb is stunned, eyes unfocused and widening further. It hurt and it was good and all he knows is he wants it again, more, he-

“Did you like that, pet?”

“H-highness,” Caleb manages. His erection is bobbing painfully between his legs, almost brushing against the furs. He can feel more precome welling up at the tip and he can only imagine what he looks like right now, but he knows he wants more.

“What a needy little thing,” Molly says, palm rubbing soothingly over the mark he must have just made. Caleb arches a little with it, trying to lean into the touch without moving from where he’s been put. “No wonder you were so expensive.”

Caleb can’t stifle the gasp. Molly must have heard it, because in response he smacks him again, the other cheek, not hard enough to move Caleb but sharp enough to make him cry out, to make him spread his legs further so his cock can brush up against the bed and get some relief. “ _Bitte_.”

“Bitte  _who?_ ” Another smack, on the same exact spot, and it’s so much, Caleb can’t bear it -

“ _Highness_ ,” Caleb all but yells, burying his face in the fur before he’s even done saying it. He cants his hips back, offering more of himself, and to his shame and delight he can feel Molly’s soothing fingertips moving between his cheeks, over his opening.

“I want to taste you,” Molly says, moving behind him. Caleb knows he’s kneeling down behind him - to -

“Highness, please.”

“Do you want me to?” Molly’s hands are kneading his ass, thumbs spreading his cheeks apart slightly, the burn of the spanking still warm and sharp all at once on the sensitive flesh. Caleb pants and tries to get enough  _air_.

“I,” he says, and through his gasps he can feel Molly’s hands stroking, kneading, but moving no further toward their goal until Caleb says yes or no. Caleb presses his forehead firmly to the mattress, trying to stop everything from spinning. Molly is unmoving behind him, making no royal demands for him to hurry up.

Everything else has felt so good. And Caleb  _knows_ , no matter what game this is, Molly would not continue if Caleb said he wanted it to stop. “Please, Highness,” he says, and spreads his legs a little wider apart. “Please do to me… what you wa…” Caleb can feel Molly’s impossibly warm mouth already pressing kisses around his hole, closer and closer, until his lips brush that tight ring and then his tongue, wet pressure unlike anything Caleb’s ever felt.

“A-ah,” he whimpers, and feels Molly’s thumbs dig in more and spread him apart further. Molly’s whole face feels closer now, radiating heat and lips brushing against his opening again, gentle, then licking roughly across him, over and over again, until Caleb is both accustomed to the feeling and needful for more. “ _Ja_ ,” he squeaks out. Molly growls contentedly against his skin, and Caleb can’t help but rock back into the feeling a little, pushing down the shame of his position and finding he can press himself closer and just barely rut against the soft-and-rough texture of the furs. “Ffff. Please. Please, do it.” He bites his lip. “Fuck.  _Highness_. You were right, it is good, I-”

Molly’s mouth pulls back, and he’s panting for air behind him. “Do you have _any_  idea what you sound like?” he hisses darkly.

Caleb is startled by the predatory tone of it, but there’s no menace to it, just lust and  _strain_ , and Caleb understands those both right now. “Nein,” he breathes, rocking a little lower and feeling the underside of his cock drag against the fur. “P-please,” he tries, wanting Molly’s mouth back where it was. “Please, Highness, it - please do it more -”

Molly growls again, low in his throat, and suddenly Caleb is being manhandled onto his side, pressed down at the shoulder as Molly leans over him and - Caleb hears the drawer of the nightstand, of Molly rummaging through it, and things begin to connect in his fevered mind.

“ _Yes,_ ” Caleb says clearly, knowing Molly will want confirmation on this as well. “Yes, yes, yes, please-”

“The neediest concubine I’ve ever had,” Molly says, sounding like he’s barely holding on to his own narrative. He finally crawls over Caleb entirely, gone from view, rummaging further. A glass bottle clinks against something wooden. “Hold still and be good.”

 _Be good_. Caleb feels a little dizzy as he stares at the wall across the room, not moving, feeling the mess of precome on his abdomen and the blanket underneath his hip, burning with lust and adrenaline. After a moment Molly digs his hand between Caleb’s legs, hauling the top one up until it’s bent, and Caleb moans and pulls it up further, trying to give him more access. Molly’s touch disappears again, and Caleb listens to the sound of fingertips dipping into something slick and wet.

“It’s cold,” Molly warns.

Caleb takes a deep breath and tugs his leg higher, further forward, in a silent bid for Molly to begin anyway. He hears Molly let out a huff of air as he drops down onto the bed behind Caleb.

“There’s a good boy,” Molly breathes into his ear. Caleb whines and tilts his head back, aiming to be closer, hopeful that Molly will indulge him in this particular moment. And he  _does_ , not pressed up against his back (impossible right now) but nuzzling his ear instead, pressing his lips to Caleb’s neck.

Molly’s knuckles brush up against Caleb’s inner thigh, up and down a few times, and then it’s the pads of his fingers, smearing something uncomfortably cool up and down over the soft skin. Caleb stiffens at first, confused by the placement, relaxing as the salve warms a little. Molly’s hand disappears again, comes back with more salve, smoothing it out over the inside of Caleb’s drawn-up thigh, and when things click into place, as Molly’s stroking fingertips draw up to the underside of Caleb’s balls, just barely over his hole, Caleb moans in understanding and reaches out to grip the blanket.

“Bitte,” he says, almost demanding. “Highness, bitte, now, please, please do it-”

“Hush.” Molly’s teeth graze his neck.

“Please, ple- oh,” Caleb’s distracted by Molly’s hand cupping his sac, squeezing it firmly until Caleb shivers and goes still. When he lets go, Caleb remains still, silent, hearing the bottle get closed and set down. Molly shifts on the bed and finally presses up  _tight_ behind him, down the length of his body, so warm and perfect, cock thick and damp and nestled against the curve of his ass.

“Ready?” Molly asks, as if he needed to.

“ _Please_.”

Molly presses a kiss to the nape of Caleb’s neck. Caleb feels him reach between them, angling his erection between Caleb’s warm, slick thighs. Caleb presses his knees together, trying to make sure the pressure is as much as possible, shuddering when he feels and hears Molly groan behind him.

“ _Please_ ,” he tries again. Molly can’t hurt him in this position, and so Caleb sees no reason for him not to ‘take’ him roughly; Molly finally begins to thrust in earnest, and Caleb cries out as Molly’s hips smack against his still-reddened ass. “Yes.  _Yes_.”

From this angle, Molly’s cock isn’t stroking up against the underside of his cock or his balls as he’d hoped, but it still feels  _amazing_ , Molly’s firm body behind him, now a hand on his hip to pull him back into every thrust, and suddenly Molly squirms behind him, finding another angle, and Caleb  _yells_  as Molly’s cock drives hard and fast between his thighs, nudging his sac at the end of every thrust.

“ _Yes,_ ” Caleb says again, loud enough to be heard over the sudden fervent energy of their bodies coming together, of Molly’s grunts and the pounding in his own ears. Molly’s hand is like a burning brand against his bony hip, digging in, pulling him back to meet the thrusts, and Caleb uses what little leverage he has to thrust back against Molly, making the other man whine and  _growl_  against his shoulder, moving faster. The two hand prints on him feel like they’re burning but it both doesn’t matter and makes it better at the same time.

“Let me touch you,” Molly growls, and Caleb gasps and nods, still moving. 

Molly’s hand is quick to find him, warm, gripping Caleb more tightly than expected. It feels incredible, with Caleb’s precome-slick cock so desperate for relief and getting so much all at once - Molly doesn’t stroke him off, just starts thrusting harder from behind to make Caleb’s hips jerk forward into the grip. Caleb feels the sharp pinprick of tears in his eyes.

“Fuck. I.” His balls are tightening, his breath is near hitching, he knows, he  _knows_ he can’t last. “I’m going to, b- please, can I,”

“ _Yes_ ,” Molly hisses in his ear, dark and husky and perfect, stroking up against his sac again and making him cry out again. Caleb scrabbles at blanket, at nothing, finally reaching up and gripping the headboard as Molly pounds harder between his legs, starting to become erratic in his movements, and it’s the realization that Molly’s about to come too that sends Caleb over the edge. 

He comes, body spasming and drawing a sharp groan out of him. Molly is saying something he can’t hear, and then there are teeth sharp against his neck, making him whine and drawing his orgasm out further - he can feel himself ejaculating still, more when Molly’s hand finally moves on him and strokes up to the head, again, and between spasms Caleb is arching his body backward, into the warmth of Molly’s, feeling a hot warmth between his thighs as well.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Molly’s panting, over and over again, taking his hand away too soon. Caleb fumbles blindly for it, grabbing his wrist and bringing it back to his softening erection, too lost in the moment to be shy about his desire to be stroked gently through the aftershocks. Molly doesn’t move at first, probably hesitant, but when his fingertips stroke lightly over Caleb’s length, down to his balls, fondling gently as Caleb twitches and sighs contentedly, Molly seems to understand. Caleb wishes he could be as delicate and as thoughtful with Molly right now, but all he can seem to do is try to reclaim some air and stop shaking.

He feels like he ran a mile. Like he came twice. Like he’d  _really_ gotten fucked - which, now that the adrenaline is beginning to filter out, he realizes probably would not have gone well with just a tongue around his hole for preparation. It was silly of him to expect that.

“You sound amazing,” Molly’s saying, breaking him out of his reverie. He tries to think of how to respond to that.

“I. Do?” Caleb stares forward at the middle distance. Molly’s hand has gently released him and is trailing little patterns in the mess on his abdomen, little curlicue circles. His lithe body is naked, warm, relaxed but pressed to Caleb’s. It’s what he’s been imagining every night they’ve had to share this bed with each other.

“Mmmm.” Molly sounds smug, content. Like himself. He nuzzles in behind Caleb’s ear, kissing the spot lightly. “I liked it. Did you like it?”

If con jobs ended with this more often, he would do nothing but con jobs. “I did,” Caleb says carefully. “I did not. Expect that. I had not done anything quite like that before.”

Molly makes a somewhat displeased sound. “So it’s not what you were hoping for?”

“Nein, I-” He thinks back to what he said to start all this.  _Dethrone me_. “I mean, I suppose I didn’t really know what I meant. But I wanted it.” He takes a slow, rattling breath, trying to collect himself while feeling a tail curl around his leg. “Does that make any sense?”

“I think so.” Molly sounds appeased. “Just as long as you had fun, that’s what matters.”

Caleb gets the sense that Molly isn’t just talking about ‘fun’ in a flippant sense, but that perhaps this is another kind of check-in. That whatever they just did, it was… a lot… and Molly’s making sure he didn’t break Caleb somehow. “I liked it very much,” Caleb admits quietly. “I. Would.” Like to do it again. Can he say that? Molly wasn’t using him for a one night stand, he’s pretty sure - the attraction Molly displayed was something strange and mysterious to Caleb, but it didn’t feel fleeting. “If you ever find yourself in a mood to do something like that again, I, I would be interested.”

Behind him, Molly is pressing his lips to his shoulder. Caleb realizes that they are curved in a large smile.


	13. Chapter 13

Caleb wakes up to soft knocking on the door, and someone next to him moving.

“Yes?” Molly’s asking to his right, in that delicate tone he uses for his concubine persona. The dissonance of that voice form his usual one wakes Caleb up completely, bringing him into Work Mode. Around him are the remnants of last night - a jar of something on the nightstand, a red skirt half-off the foot of the bed, other clothes crumpled around the flagstones.

“It’s nearly eleven, sir, your Grace. Would you like to eat before the journey?” It’s Malvina.

Caleb sits up fully and feels something flicking against his calf. He realizes it’s Molly’s tail, ticking back and forth as he thinks.

“Yes,” Molly says finally. “Just leave something simple at the door, we’ll take it and be ready by noon.”

“Yes, sir.” Malvina sounds happy. “I’ll send for your guards and your carriage.”

Molly and Caleb wait for the sound of her footsteps to go down the hall, and then they look at each other.

“That carriage,” Molly says finally. “Even if the town doesn’t make good on their favor they owe us, I am really fucking happy with that carriage.”

Caleb thinks back to the warmth of the carriage, such an improvement from the cart, and tries to think of how to continue that line of conversation and not be awkward. “We had sex last night,” he says instead.

Molly looks at him, taking in what has to be a beet red face combined with his already awful morning hair, and blinks a few times. “I can only agree,” Molly says after a few beats. “Is that.. okay, still?” Caleb opens his mouth and Molly holds a hand up. “Because if it’s not, maybe this never happened. Or, maybe it did, but it doesn’t happen again. Really up to you.”

Caleb tries to think of the best way to reassure Molly, to explain that he was worried Molly might be the one having second thoughts about taking a shabby wizard to bed, but he’s not doing so well with words this morning. Instead, he takes Molly’s hand, gently pulling it and directing it down to Caleb’s side. Molly’s bent forward a little to allow this, and after a moment Molly smiles and nods agreement, laying back down to hold Caleb loosely.

“When we hear her put the tray down, we really do have to eat quickly and clean all this up,” Caleb mutters against Molly’s shoulder.

“In a minute,” Molly agrees.

“Is that your foot on my ankle or your tail?”

“Tail.”

“Okay.”

**

They’ve eaten and are most of their way through packing when Caleb gets a message in his head:

_Caleb! There’s a servant girl here, a human with brown hair in a bun, she says she BELONGS to you? She’s trying to put luggage on the carriage? Youcanreplytothismessage._

Caleb’s hand stops on a half-folded pair of pants and he smiles, tipping his head up.

_Ja, the ‘Duke’ owns her. Just play along for now, we have a plan._

“You alright?” Molly asks.

“Nott thought we had a stowaway,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the direction of the front gates. “That must mean they’re ready for us at the front, we should hurry.”

“I’m done,” Molly says, pulling the lid of his second chest shut. Caleb’s eyes narrow.

“You came in here with  _nothing_ , how do you have two chests worth of things now?”

Molly tosses his hair out of his face. “The real question is, what’s taking you so long when you’re packing  _fur_  and  _wool?_  Not exactly delicate material.”

“Fine, fine.” Caleb grabs the pile of remaining clothing and stuffs it in haphazardly, laughing as Molly has to keep the lid down while he secures the lock. “How are we going to get all this to the front? Neither of us would carry heavy things.”

“I sure as shit wouldn’t,” Molly says with a sly grin. “I’ll grab some guards.” He opens the door, stopping short as he sees four guards already standing there at attention, weapons sheathed.

For a split second, the hair on the back of Caleb’s neck rises. What are they here for?

“They’re on the bed,” Molly says smoothly, gesturing inside and walking down the hall. The guards make way for him, giving Caleb a respectful nod before filing in and beginning to carry the chests out to the front.

Caleb watches them go one by one, a knot still in his throat. After a moment, he takes a deep breath, smooths down the lapels of his long wool jacket, and strides out.

Down the hall, Molly is leading the way in slippered feet and gesturing for the guards at the main door to lift the bar and let them through. The sound of the rain outside is actually welcome, an audible sign of the free world outside - Caleb does his best not to seem eager to leave, ignoring the respectful nods of the door guards as he walks past them and observes his four chests getting strapped to the top of the carriage.

Yasha, an incredibly wonderful sight for sore eyes, has taken two of the chests off of their hands, while Nott, in her gnome illusion, is on the top of the carriage, pulling one out of Jester’s hands to strap down. They’re all still dressed as uniformed soldiers, hoods up against the rain.

“I trust everything is ready,” Caleb says sharply, establishing that they must remain in character. Nott is nodding her head several times.

“Yes, your Grace,” she says. “Your companion’s new servant is in the carriage to be out of the rain.”

“She can remain in there with us.” Caleb flicks a hand dismissively. “I doubt she has suitable travel wear to join you on one of the horses.” He nods to the guards who carried their things out. “You may go.”

“Your Grace.” One bows deeply and the others follow suit, and they file back into the keep. The doors shut, and Caleb turns, eyes still stern as Fjord emerges from behind the carriage on one of the spare horses.

“Ready to go, your Grace? I trust everything’s gone well?” There’s a faint hint of humor in his voice, but probably not enough for the outer guards to notice, nor the girl in the carriage. Still, Caleb flattens his brows as if he doesn’t appreciate it.

“Everything is concluded. We will depart.” Caleb looks to Molly, who’s wearing a semi translucent robe in green. There’s a shawl around his shoulders, which doesn’t look like enough for the rain. “Schatz.”

Molly watches him as he takes off his cloak, laying it over Molly’s shoulders and securing the bronze clasp at the throat. When Molly doesn’t move, still watching him, Caleb gestures sharply to the carriage door that Yasha’s holding open. “Yes,” he says finally, hiking his robes up with one hand and taking Yasha’s with the other. He dips his head slightly to get in without scraping his horns, making the jewelry on them jingle, and Caleb allows himself a moment of staring to take in that singular image. That he may think back on it later, when they are no longer in these roles.

“Your Grace,” Yasha says next, inclining her head. He nods back and takes the small fold-out step, then the next, finally in the plush safety of the carriage’s interior. The door closes with a click behind him, and after some shuffling and remounting of horses outside, they begin moving at a plodding pace toward the outer gates.

Caleb looks across the carriage to the opposite bench, where Malvina is sitting next to two misshapen sacks. Her hands are folded in her lap and she’s looking down respectfully at them. To Caleb’s right, Molly is gently pushing the cloak off his shoulders, eyes already on the glass window overlooking the muddied barracks.

“How long is the journey to Rhadiatt, Malvina?” Caleb asks. She looks up, surprised at first and then thinking.

“I have not taken the journey by horse myself, your Grace, but I am given to understand it is about an hour in good weather if traveling by caravan.”

“And here, is this considered good weather?”

Malvina smiles apologetically. “I’m afraid so, your Grace.”

“All the better we are leaving it, then.” Caleb looks over as something furry moves into his line of vision, and he realizes Molly is using the lining of the cloak to pat Caleb’s hair and shoulders dry. “Honestly.”

Molly hums, unapologetic, and crosses one leg over the other as he continues his work. Caleb sighs and endures it.

“Your Grace, would it be impatient of me to ask your companion what duties will be expected of me?” Malvina is sitting up a little straighter. “If so, I apologize, and will ask the head Taskmistress once we arrive.”

Molly shares a look with Caleb, who mulls it over a few moments before turning back to the girl. “Let us get past the final gates of this territory, first,” he says. “Then, I will be happy to furnish you with every detail.. I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”

Malvina’s eyes widen, her excitement almost palpable. “Is there … travel, your Grace?”

Molly smirks. “I mean, technically, there will be as much as you like.”

She doesn’t seem to know exactly what to make of this, but she nods obediently and then looks to her window as well, taking in the gloomy weather and tired surroundings with an almost palpable level of excitement.

Something is moving near Caleb again - he looks over and sees that Molly has wrapped himself comfortably in the cloak and is slowly tipping down, pulling his feet up onto the cushioned bench to lay his head on Caleb’s leg. “Are you so exhausted from waking up an hour ago?”

Molly’s tail flicks dismissively under the cloak. “I have until we get to the gates,” he says, clearly referring to their roles and the con job.

Caleb has no real desire to get Molly away from him, and so he feigns a patient sigh and lays a hand over the tiefling’s head, petting absently as he lays his head back against the embroidered pillow and closing his eyes.

Soon, they’ll be done. Molly will get to be himself again, and Caleb won’t have to be so coldly rude to almost everyone he meets. They’ll get to tell Malvina that her debt has been paid, and that she’s a free woman. They’ll tell the fishing town the good news. There will be an election. Malvina will only work for that new Duke if it suits her.

Caleb runs a fingernail along the ridges of one of Molly’s horns, up to a cool silver ring that sits about midway on it. After a few moments of thought, he casts message to the other man.

_How much… has to change?_

Molly’s ear flicks back against his wrist. There’s a pause.  _I’m going to be sitting in chairs again. That’ll be nice._

Caleb frowns.  _That is a vaguer answer than I was hoping for._

_Last night, you said you’d like to ‘do it again’ if I was interested._ Molly stretches underneath him, catlike and slow until he relaxes further on the bench.  _We may not be playing as much dress-up, but I’m sure we can find some other games to keep ourselves occupied._

A small thrill runs up Caleb’s spine. He fans his fingers over Molly’s cheek affectionately, face heating when he sees the other man smile mischievously up at him.  _You’re going to make me blush in front of our fake new servant._

Molly shrugs one shoulder.  _I get to continue being a brat until we’re out of the gates. I’m making the most of it._

_You are the worst._

_Nonsense. Everybody likes me._

Caleb rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling again. Like an idiot. He looks out the rain-spattered window, watching the blurry shapes pass by with a funny, anticipatory sort of calm in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been so supportive of this fic. <3
> 
> **edit 3/19** : HEY, rathernoon on tumblr [made this INCREDIBLE art](http://rathernoon.tumblr.com/post/183698140848) I want to share! The full image is at the link, and a smaller version is here below: 


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